


Oasis

by vitamindesi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Bottom Dean, Castiel Whump, DCBB, Dean Whump, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Omega Dean, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Therapy, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 16:02:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5169911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vitamindesi/pseuds/vitamindesi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester never wanted to be an Omega. Castiel Novak never wanted to be an Alpha. Sam Winchester needs money to go to college—Dean discovers an unconventional way to earn this money. Gabriel wants Castiel to find a mate—Castiel wants to start his own arboretum and never harm an Omega in any way—even if that means never taking a mate. When Dean and Castiel are brought together by repeating circumstances, they learn each other’s secrets and neuroses, and learn more about themselves and their pasts than they could have ever imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay wow, where to even begin. This is my first time ever partaking in DCBB and man I didn't expect the stress that would come with it. But it was fun, from beginning to end! Hell, I might even do it again next year ;)  
> Giant thank you to my beta reader, [Ara Claire](http://ara-claire.tumblr.com/) and a giant thank you to my WONDERFUL artist [reillyblack](http://reillyblack.livejournal.com/)  
> GIANT WARNING FOR THIS FIC:  
> there IS a rape scene in chapter four. I will put a warning at the start of the chapter as well as a row of asterisks before the scene begins and when the scene ends, for those who still want to read the chapter but can do without that part.

   [](http://tinypic.com?ref=vmxggo)

Learning to be an omega was probably the hardest thing that Dean ever had to learn. It, by far, beat out learning trigonometry and how to ride a bike. Presenting as an Omega forced him to tamp down his natural defiance; he had to learn to keep his head down and his mouth shut if he wanted to make the right impression on some people. He had to learn to be responsible with his body - no matter how badly his Heat made him want to roll over onto his stomach. However, some of it came a little bit more naturally - such as tacking “Alpha” onto the end of a sentence when speaking to one. He automatically became more aware of those around him; who smelled threatening or kind. His sense of smell seemed to have heightened overnight. He spent the first three days of his heat with a gargantuan headache; unable to _not_ smell his own scent, the scent of his dirty room, of Sam and their mother down the hall.

 

His dad - also an omega - spent months with Dean, teaching him how to keep his head down when acknowledging authority; other Alphas. That one took Dean a long time to get down. He reeked of confidence, something that was oftentimes unseen in Omegas - unexpected of them. He taught Dean how to take his suppressants and birth control. He barged into Dean’s room every morning for three months after Dean presented, bellowing a reminder to take his birth control. At first, Dean protested, whining about more sleep. And then, one gray morning, instead of yelling, dropped a sheaf of news articles about omegas being raped, and the Omega Rights Movement struggling to defend them. A young boy had been grievously injured, and spent months in the hospital. It was an even longer time before the Alpha that raped him was convicted, an expensive lawyer on his side. Apparently the young boy had fallen pregnant, and miscarried. His family told the media that they were happy that he did; they didn’t want their son surviving the trauma of carrying a rapist’s baby.

 

After that, Dean woke up religiously at six-thirty to take his birth control. He worked out with his father before school, running and lifting weights. As they lifted together, John would run Dean through scenarios; when to exude confidence, when to display submission. He didn’t have the body of an Omega, but he sure as hell smelled of one. His only hope was to become stronger, just in case he ever needed to be in the future.

 

            Maybe if he looked stronger, he wouldn’t be a target.

 

            When it came down to it, Dean Winchester never expected to present as an Omega. A Beta maybe; but never an Omega. He grew up taking care of Sam and going after the kids who picked on him. He was the protector, big brother Dean. He wasn’t a tiny meek Omega, destined to be mated to an Alpha of fate’s choosing, destined to spend a life forcing out pups for his Alpha to brag about.

           

            That wasn’t supposed to be him.

 

            To his disdain and disappointment, fate had other plans. With painful clarity, he remembered the day he presented. It had been his freshman year of High School. He was walking down the long stretch of hallway to his world Civics class when a powerful scent hit him. So powerful in fact, it eliminated every other scent that had been assailing him since he stepped foot into the school that day. All of his senses honed in on just the one. It had smelled like a humid summer's day. Dean's favorite kind of day. The scent was amazing, mouth-watering, if he’d had the chance to think that far.

 

            Instinctively, he turned to go follow it, instead finding his feet were glued to the ground, terror spreading through his stomach, overwhelming the feeling of peace the scent had just previously given him.

 

            His boxers were suddenly drenched, clinging stickily to the back of his legs. He felt, rather than saw everyone’s head whip around to face him.

 

            Dean was a fast runner – Sam had made sure of that, running from baths like a bat out of hell.

 

            Dean took off down the hall at a sprint towards the nurse's office, looking for sanctuary, safety. He slid into the room, startling the hell out of the nurse and proceeded to lock himself in the bathroom. He ignored the frantic knocks and the nurse’s kind voice asking him what was wrong.

 

            “Go away!” he yelled. He stripped down to his boxers and carefully peeled them off of himself. He grabbed a wad of paper towels and ran them under cold water, trying to carefully wipe himself down. It was to no avail though - slick was practically pouring from him, against his will. He was hot and uncomfortable, eventually pulling off his socks, in hope that the cool floor would bring his temperature down.

 

His mind was racing faster than he could keep up with. Slick meant - what was slick? It meant Omega. He had presented. He had presented and now he was sweating like a - hah- a dog in heat on the floor in the nurse’s bathroom. He struggled to dig up some kind of information on being an Omega. John never talked to him about it much. He had always zoned out while discussing Omegas in health class. All he knew was: 1. He had just presented. 2. He was an Omega. 3. Omegas got raped. 4. The nurse wouldn’t let a rapist follow him...right?

 

            Dean wasn’t sure how long he was there. He ended up bunching up his clothes and sliding them under his lower body to lay on the floor, face pressed to the cool tile. Albeit gross, it cooled him down to a tolerable temperature.

 

            He drifted in and out of consciousness, struggling to breathe around the painful warmth in his chest, the feeling of a hot iron rod being twisted around his insides. It was a harsh knock on the door that startled him up. John’s voice filtered through the thick door. “Dean?” he called. He didn’t sound angry. The scent of his worry and fear seeped under the door. “Son, I have a change of clothes and body spray to block your scent. Can you unlock the door, please?”

 

            Dean got up carefully, holding his shirt to his ass. It was practically useless; the thing was soaked. He unlocked the door and swiftly stuck his arm out, grabbing the bag that his father was holding out for him without fully opening the door.

 

            He immediately balked at the thick briefs he pulled out first, designed to absorb slick for brief periods of time and mask the intense scent of it. He swallowed, nauseous, not quite ready to accept this reality.

 

            Dean pulled the briefs on slowly, uncomfortable at the thick fabric, a disconcerting change from his normal loose boxers. He finished dressing rapidly and all but dumped the bottle of scent-dampeners over himself, scrubbing it over his skin and into his hair with harsh hands. Part of him wanted to believe he could scrub away being an Omega; that he could just make it disappear from his genes entirely.

 

            He exited the bathroom to see John rocking back and forth on his heels, hands shoved into his pockets. He gave Dean a sympathetic look. “Let’s go home, son,” he said quietly.

 

            The silence in the car was nearly stifling. Halfway home, John finally spoke again, “We’ll go to the doctor tomorrow.” Dean didn’t reply; he couldn’t. He still could barely accept that this was real.

 

            Being home was just as bad as having been at school. Sam was in the kitchen doing homework at the table when they walked in. Dean watched him give a tentative sniff to the air, and then wrinkle his nose. “Gross, Dean! You freakin’ reek!” he whined. Sam could only scent Dean’s distress and the fake scent of the dampener; it was overwhelming and flooded the house the moment that he opened the door.

 

            “Shut your mouth, short stack!” Dean snapped, his muscles bunching with anger. It took a John’s gentle hand on his shoulder to calm himself and turn away from his younger brother.

 

            John walked Dean to his door. “Your mother is going to be home soon. She’ll make you some dinner. Go ahead and shower; I’ll make sure Sammy leaves you alone.” His voice was somber, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if his father was disappointed in his presentation. Was he worried that Dean might have to go through John’s same struggles? He couldn’t put his finger on it; John’s face remained carefully neutral.

 

            Dean took the longest shower that he could manage, scrubbing himself over and over again, trying to get the Heat scent off of him. No matter what though, every time he lifted his arm to his nose, it wafted off of him, even through the thick steam. Eventually he gave up, dousing himself in soap one last time before drying off.

 

            The want inside of him was growing ever fast, curling in the pit of his belly, stifling his movements. He didn’t bother getting dressed; instead he only wrapped a towel around his waist and darted to his room.

 

            On his bed was a box of vibrators and plugs of every assortment. They were all still in their original packaging, brightly colored and labeled with instructions on “how to fill yourself!” Dean couldn’t help the blossom of disappointment growing within him.

 

            Why couldn’t he have been an alpha?

 

* * *

            Castiel was sick of his family; that much was common knowledge. They were all alphas, making for a household that was volatile at best. Gabriel was always in a power play with someone when his family came to visit. Michael and their father, Chuck, were always in a battle of sorts - typically on how to raise Anna and Castiel, the two youngest. Raphael was always brooding. No matter the day, time, or weather. He was quiet and contemplative.

 

            Castiel hated the fact that he was an alpha. He loathed the fact that he was more inclined to being angry, to losing his mind over the slightest thing. He was terrified of finding an Omega that smelled good to him – terrified of what he might do. Would he lose control? Would he attack them?

 

            To compensate for the nature that could ultimately be out of his control, should he lose it, he did soccer five times a week, went to yoga on the weekends, drank certain tea blends, and always got at least 7 hours of sleep - all things that his doctor had assured him would help maintain control over himself, to keep him from slipping into Alpha Rage, were he provoked.

 

            He didn’t want to be like Lucifer, who ended up in jail for attempting to rape an omega. It was the beginning of a stronger Omega rights movement, so the coverage went wild. The protests and witnesses ensured that Lucifer would stay behind bars for at least thirty years.

 

            For this reason, Castiel was an active participant in the omega rights movement - president of the club in high school and a ready participant in protests and information sessions. He felt an unerring guilt for what his brother had put that young boy through; he had to do something to combat it. Bearing witness to the entire situation as well, Castiel couldn’t help but be made aware of the plights that Omegas suffered through. He couldn’t imagine dealing with what they did regularly, and it was already being rectified, so he found himself jumping in on the movement as well.

 

            In his senior year of high school, he could have sworn that he did smell his mate one day in the hallway. It was the holly and pine scent of Christmas wrapped in a blanket of a cool fall day. It made his heart swell, his pupils dilate, and it threw him into a full rut, so fast that he nearly didn’t make it home in time to lock himself in his room, fighting the nature to find his mate the entire way. He couldn’t bear the thought, the mere possibility, of losing any kind of control and hurting them. Medical images of what Lucifer had done to that young boy flashed through his mind. On top of that, the very thought that their bodies had predestined mates was obscene to him; it had to be a myth, right?

 

            It was a long week.

 

            Naturally, Castiel’s family all but disowned him. They claimed that he was “rejecting who he truly was”. Castiel only calmly replied, “I am merely maintaining control over my true self.”

 

            Michael came back with a snarl, “You’re ashamed!” With that, Castiel promptly turned away. The argument grew to be a redundant one; it became so after Castiel popped his knot and immediately asked his mother to take him to the doctor to fix him. His entire family had been equal parts appalled and outraged. As far back as anyone could remember, the Novak’s were made up of Alphas and betas. Strong and organized, albeit violent at best.

 

            Growing up, Castiel had hated it. He hated hearing his brothers fight, hearing his dad push at his mom when she didn’t have dinner ready immediately when he got home. Castiel often found himself coming downstairs after everyone else had gone to bed to sit with his mom. They’d sit together on the couch, cups of tea cooling between nervous palms, a patient silence between the two of them.

 

            Occasionally they did talk. They talked about how far back their Alpha lineage went, how Michael fought with Lucifer again. Once they discussed aunt Hael’s poor discipline for Gabriel, which was a huge explanation for why he was as out of control as he was, causing trouble whenever they came to visit. They never discussed why Chuck drank so much or why he sometimes got violent. She never told Castiel that she was disappointed in him, nor did she mention his attempts to distance himself from his Alpha family.

 

            In the end, it was his mother who took him to soccer practice every day until he got his license, who rooted for him at every game. She even joined some of his yoga classes here and there. She was the only one who supported him going against his nature.

 

            He wouldn’t let her down.

 

* * *

 

            Dean graduated high school with high honors. It impressed damn near everyone except for Sam. He was the one who sacrificed sleep with Dean, quizzing him for hours on end in their upstairs attic room. He’d get up early to make Dean breakfast on the days that he had big tests. In the long run, it was no surprise that Sam had turned out to be an Alpha. What a backwards way life had of doing things.

 

            Their little ragtag family threw him a big thing for his graduation. Bobby made burgers on the grill, Ellen cooked Dean a celebratory apple pie and Jo managed to get an entire whipped cream container on Dean’s face. It was a good day, until the very end.

 

            Sam and Dean sat across the hood of Bobby's truck watching the sun dip below the horizon, listening to the cicadas begin their nightly song.

 

Sam turned to him and murmured, "I wish they were here."

 

Dean had to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. He nodded at Sam in agreement, unable to trust his voice. He missed his parents like hell, but never let Sam see that. Although he was the omega out of the pair, he couldn’t help his instinct to protect Sam and set an example. Their deaths had rocked Sam and Dean’s world, in the most awful of ways. They didn’t talk about it much, the words always getting stuck in their throats when they tried to.

 

            Whether that example was one of emotional constipation, he couldn’t worry about right now.

 

After Sam and Dean’s parents died, Bobby and Ellen immediately took custody of Sam and Dean, taking them under their wing. It was cramped in the small two-story house with three children (especially with Jo punching Sam and Dean when Ellen’s back was turned), but it was better than the possibility of being separated. Bobby and Ellen fell easily into the roles of mother and father. Ellen got up early to cook them breakfast, scolding them if they didn’t brush their teeth. Bobby instituted a curfew and taught Sam how to swing a baseball bat without hitting himself in the face.

 

            The graduation party reminded Dean why he was choosing not to go to college. No one hassled him about it, because they knew his fears; because being a male omega was still too much of a rarity. He’d had too many nightmares of getting raped in bathrooms, having people bully him for his differences. Dean opted, instead, to work in Bobby’s salvage and auto shop. He was the only one in a fifteen mile radius, so they had a steady flow of clientele. John had made sure Dean could do good work on the inside of a car. The skill stuck and Dean was always willing to learn more. He was the customer’s favorite mechanic, always taking the time to explain what was wrong with their car and how he planned to fix it. There was a large glass window into the garage that allowed customers to watch the mechanics if they really felt like it. Most people were fascinated the first few times, and after a while, would take off, trusting their steed to Dean or Benny’s hands.

 

            While Dean chose not to continue school, Sam found his solace in books. He was already planning which schools he would apply to, comparing programs and trying to find his niche. Dean thought it was adorable, watching his little brother pour over pamphlets, long hair tucked behind his ears. Ellen would bring him glasses of milk and ask him critical questions that made him chew his lip and stare at the wall.

 

            Bobby taught Sam how to control himself around new omegas, taught him the importance of maintaining control over himself. Ellen reminded Dean to take his suppressants and birth control by lobbing the containers at his head as he walked out the door if he forgot them.

 

            It wasn’t perfect, but it was damn near close enough.

 

* * *

 

            The only person who showed up at Castiel’s graduation was his cousin Gabriel. He hooted and hollered from the back row when Castiel’s name was called. It earned him a handful of glares from the parents sitting around him, but he didn’t care. Gabriel was an omega, a short man with a mouth that got him into trouble too many times to count. He ate his way through sweet shops and dodged many abusers over the course of his life. His respect for Castiel was sky high - the violence wasn’t limited to only the Novak’s. There were plenty of Alphas who considered themselves “traditional” which meant they believed they could take Omegas by force and he couldn’t help the pride he held for his cousin for being the man he was.

 

            Gabriel took him out to dinner that night, a fancy steak and wine place that didn’t card Castiel when he asked for a bottle of wine.

 

            “So what now, little bro?” Gabriel asked him in between bites. “Where does the next chapter of your life lead you?”

 

            Castiel chewed thoughtfully, smiling a little bit at Gabriel’s term of endearment. He grew up wishing that Gabriel had truly been his brother. “I’m not sure. I’m thinking about starting a garden.”

 

            Gabriel balked. “A garden?”

 

            “A garden.”

 

            “What the hell are you going to do with a garden?”

 

            Castiel shrugged. “You know how corn mazes operate, right?” Gabriel nodded. “Well, it’ll be like that, just a garden. There will be benches for people to sit on, little plaques that tell what plant they’re looking at. It’ll be a sanctuary.” As he laid out his goal for the future, Castiel’s heart swelled with excitement. He’d excelled in botany classes throughout high school, tending to plants and flowers. He grew to love fauna and flora, the personality that they all had on their own, the bright colors and sharp thorns.

            “An arboretum?”

            “Yeah. An arboretum.”

 

            He couldn’t help but love the flowers also because they drowned out the other scents. They were sweet and titillating, kinder to his nature than an omega or a beta. He didn’t have to worry about losing control around flowers.

 

            Gabriel snorted, and drank some of his wine. “You get a full ride scholarship to do soccer and you turn it down for a dream to design an allergy haven. You are the weirdest alpha I’ve ever met.”

 

            Castiel laughed quietly. “You tell me that every time you see me, Gabriel.”

 

            “And it never changes!”

 

            Almost immediately after graduation, Castiel moved out of his home. The only reason he was able to do so was his trust fund. He had that only was because his mother fought Chuck tooth and nail, finalizing the decision when she yelled, “if you leave your son to fall on his face, you are a _horrible_ Alpha and a _horrifying_ father!” Begrudgingly, Chuck had released Castiel’s money to him without a word, unwilling to gain the reputation of being a bad Alpha.

 

            He got a small apartment on the outskirts of the city, overlooking a sprawling forest on one side, and quaint small businesses on the other. He found an easy job at a floral shop just down the street from his apartment. It was full time - over time - because the old woman who owned it was going to be moving into a nursing home within the next year.

 

            “Why do you want this job, young man?” she had asked, eyeing Castiel warily. “What’s in it for you?”

 

            Castiel quietly explained to her his excellence in botany in high school, and his dreams for his future. As he explained, her eyebrows went up further and further. “You are a strange one, my dear,” she murmured. “But the job is yours. You get one day to shadow me, and then you’re on your own. If you can make these plants thrive within a week without me supervising you, then you can keep the job. Got it?”

 

            On his first day, Castiel learned more about flowers than he did in any of his botany courses. He learned which ones can’t go in the same plot together, which needed more sunlight than others, how to make his own plant food. Marnie was good at her job, “but my aching bones can’t take this anymore. It’s hard enough maneuvering a wheelchair around this mess, and don’t even get me started on forgetting something in another room right after I’ve left it!” The plants were her babies, and she was essentially trusting Castiel with her life’s work.

 

            His first day alone, he wasn’t nearly as nervous as he was when he walked across the stage to graduate. At least there was no one here if he tripped over something. He opened the shop promptly at eight am and began the list of chores that Marnie told him needed to get done daily. Much of them she couldn’t do wheelchair-bound, such as sweeping and dusting up high in the greenhouse. All of the tables the planters were on were at knee-height for him. Marnie had moved the register and computer to a smaller table and the countertop was cluttered with all kinds of things that obviously she had shoved up and promptly forgotten they were there.

 

            The first hour of his first shift was spent cleaning and reorganizing, shifting the shop around to fit him. His first customer came in at nine-thirty. It was a young woman, her blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She smiled shyly at him. “Where’s Marnie today?” she asked.

 

            Castiel cleared his throat. “She hired me yesterday. I’ll be managing the store for her from now on.”

 

            A small pout grew on the girl’s face. “Okay then,” she said. “I’m Jess.”

 

            “Nice to meet you, I’m Castiel.” they shook hands.

 

            “Okay, so Marnie put together a bouquet of daisies and daffodils for me. She said I could get them today?”

 

            Castiel nodded and wandered further back in the store. There was a shelf labelled “pick-up orders”. He found the small bouquet and brought it out to Jess.

 

            She nearly squealed and rapidly pulled out her wallet. “My parents are meeting my boyfriend tonight and these are my mom’s favorite flowers. I’m hoping some subliminal messaging will help this go smoothly.”

 

            Castiel laughed. “My prayers will be with you.”

 

            Three more customers came in after Jess, picking up their bouquets. He got four phone calls requesting bouquets. He put each of them on hold for two minutes to check the health of the flowers they asked for. Most weren’t needed for another couple of days, which allowed Castiel to ensure their health and beauty before they were picked up.

 

            When he went home that night, he wasn’t exhausted. He was content and happy, curling up on the couch in his apartment with a cup of tea and reruns of Star Trek.

 

* * *

 

            Alfie was the kind of guy who got thrown into dumpsters in high school and got his lunch stolen on a regular basis. He was scrawny, with kind eyes and a smile that could break a heart, which explained the bullying. Even though many girls were drawn to him, he found himself backing into walls, tripping over his feet, and stammering his way out of dates. He was a sweet-smelling beta, like a room filled with too many roses all at once. Castiel found it relaxing, as it reminded him of the arboretum. He presumed that the overwhelming sweetness was due to Alfie’s ever present anxiety over nothing. When he reached really anxious, verging on panic attacks, his scent shifts to that of burning leaves in an instant. Castiel was always on the lookout for the build of that scent, ready to calm his friend if needed.

 

            Alfie sat in the store with Castiel one day, perched up on top of a stool. “What happens if I take too much Zicam?” he asked suddenly.

 

            Castiel eyes him warily. Alfie’s ‘what if’ questions could quickly spiral into panic if he wasn’t careful. “It’s just zinc,” he said carefully.

 

            “But I heard that if you overdose on vitamin C-”

 

            “They found that it can help speed the treatment of cancer,” Castiel cut him off. “You’re fine. You’re probably not even getting sick.” He carefully trimmed the stems of the flowers in the soon-to-be-picked-up section, listening to Alfie’s labored breathing.

 

            “Okay,” he finally said.

 

            Castiel blew out a quiet breath of relief. Thank goodness.

 

            They had become friends when Castiel found a group of guys trying to dunk Alfie’s head in a toilet in the sixth grade. Castiel grabbed the nearest guy and socked him straight in the nose, prompting an instant waterfall of blood. Alfie was left sitting between the wall and the toilet, cowering in fear. His face was covered in snot and tears. Castiel reached his hand out and gently pulled him up. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmured softly. Alfie sat on the sink while Castiel gently wiped his face with a damp paper towel.

 

            Ever since then, Castiel was Alfie’s guardian angel. Their friendship was one of trust and openness and Castiel was always grateful for the day he walked into that bathroom.

 

            At first Alfie was concerned about Castiel getting the job at the florists’. He was sure Castiel would develop a sudden pollen allergy, or get stung by a bee or a million other fears he had floating around. So Castiel made sure that Alfie spend at least a day a week in the shop with him, until his fear abated and he was able to watch Castiel do his job without filling the room with the overwhelming sweetness of his worry. When he wasn’t panicking or anxious, his scent was actually nice – a kind of petrichor mixed with cherry blossoms. Castiel wasn’t attracted to it – he just liked being around it.

 

            He was glad he had Alfie. Even if his family didn’t want him – save for Gabriel, Alfie always wanted him around.

 

* * *

 

            Dean met Charlie in their sophomore year of high school. He was sitting in the corner of the library, reading a comic book, his lunch long since eaten. The shock that he was an omega had finally died down; people were leaving him alone. He grew quieter and more withdrawn, no longer hitting on pretty girls. He hid away in the library, poring over books he’d never had the time to read while he was chasing tail.

 

            Charlie darted behind the shelf he was leaning on and her eyes immediately dropped to the book in his hands. “You read Daredevil?!” she squeaked without introduction. “You’ve gotta come to the comic book club! We need more members. We’re saving up to go to a ComicCon!”

 

            Dean stared at her for a moment, overwhelmed by her suddenness, her bright red hair swirling lightly around her face. “Where did you come from?” he finally asked.

            She grinned at him. “Look, over there.” When Dean leaned over to see behind the shelf, Charlie grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back. “Careful! See that girl?” There was a short girl leaning against the shelf, a book held up to her face. She was squinting, trying to make sense of the words. She had long dark hair, tied back into a thick ponytail. Her nails were black and chipping, turning the pages carefully. “That’s Gilda. I’m trying to work up the courage to ask her out.”

 

            Dean turned back to Charlie. “Why not just do it?” he asked curiously.

 

            Charlie punched him in the shoulder. “She doesn’t even know I exist!”

 

            Dean eyed her accusingly. “Yeah. Right. Sure she doesn’t.” As if anybody missed Charlie’s presence. He handed Charlie his book. “Save my spot.”

 

            With that, he popped up and sauntered over to Gilda. “Hey,” he said casually.

 

            Her head raised slowly and she regarded Dean warily. “Yeah?” her voice was soft, a heavy contrast to her dark appearance.

 

            “My friend really would like to get a coffee with you but she’s too chicken shit to ask. So. You in?” he gestured behind him, where Charlie stood holding Daredevil, her mouth dropped open in a look of pure shock and horror.

 

Gilda gave Charlie a slow once over, so heated that it even made Dean uncomfortable. “You got a name?” she called.

 

            “Charlie,” she squeaked from behind her shelf.

 

            A smirk grew on Gilda’s face.

 

            “And I’m Dean,” he cut in. “And now I’m gone. See you two around.”

 

            After that, Dean became a permanent third wheel to Charlie and Gilda - or, as he liked to call them, Gillie. Together, they ran Comic Book Club and dragged Dean to the movies. Neither of them mentioned his status as an omega; however Charlie always had the heart to let him know if he was smelling close to heat so that he could douse himself in more deodorant before they went out. They even spent a significant amount of time with Sam, if Dean found himself unable to go out because he felt he was neglecting his little brother. Charlie taught Sam how to play Foosball on an old table that she and Gilda trucked over to Bobby and Ellen’s.

 

            When Jo came home from school after a day of kicking boys in the shins, she’d join the three of them, cursing under her breath if Ellen was in the room and then cheerfully flipping off Dean if her mother wasn’t.

 

            Naturally, their dynamic changed when Dean, Charlie, and Gilda graduated. The Foosball table began to collect dust in the basement and Sam got ever more intense in his search for a college. As always, change came and the world continued spinning.

 

            He tried his best to accept that change was inevitable, though it still hurt. With his friends, he was able to hold onto a semblance of childhood. He wasn’t Dean Winchester, The Kid Who Grew Up Taking Care of His Younger Brother and then Turned Out to Be an Omega. He was Dean Winchester, king of Foosball and pool - a shoulder to lean on, and a best friend. He was terrified of who he’d become without that.

            Time moved on, and so did he.

 

* * *

 

            “Dammit!” Dean all but shouted. A wrench went flying across the garage.

 

            Benny poked his head out from underneath a Prius. “Brother, you’d better not be hitting the merchandise. You’ll get all of us in trouble,” he said, always the voice of reason.

 

            Dean glared at him. “Then you come and get this rusted-ass battery out of the car. Let’s switch.” Benny only eyed him warily. “I’m serious! Lemme switch with you.”

 

            Even though he knew Dean hated the Earth-friendly cars, he relented, rolling out from underneath it and picking up the wrench that Dean threw across the room.

 

            The garage was silent for a few more minutes. Dean could hear Jo up front, talking animatedly with a customer, Bobby’s grunts of agreement filtering in between words.

 

            Finally Benny asked, “what’s got your panties in a twist?” his voice was quiet, non-intimidating. Dean was like a small animal with more bite than bark. It made approaching him difficult, so Benny was always sure to tread carefully when trying to pull information. This time, it was easy. Other times, not so much.

 

            “Sam wants to go to Stanford. I can guarantee you, we can’t afford that.”

            Benny paused in his attempt to pull the battery apart. _Stanford_? “Well…” he said slowly. “Isn’t that what student loans are for? And haven’t Bobby and Ellen put together a fund for him?”

 

            Dean let out a frustrated huff. “They only have like seven thousand dollars saved up. He’s going to need far more than that. We’re already stretched thin from them trying to put away money for him. It sucks.”

 

            Benny chewed his lip. Usually he had some kind of wisdom to feed Dean, so it would calm him down and set the dynamic in the garage back to what it always was. “Well…” he said again. He seemed at a loss for words and scratched at his beard instead. “Loans?” he suggested again.

            Dean made a sound of frustration from underneath the car. “Yeah, and let my little brother bury himself in student debt for the rest of his life. Have you seen the kid?! He has goals, dreams...he can’t do any of that if he’s under a mountain of debt!”

 

            Benny couldn’t help but see Dean’s unspoken parallel, the implication that he had no goals or dreams, or that he wasn’t worth going after a degree. Over the years, Benny had adjusted himself to Dean’s self-deprecating talk. According to Sam, it only got worse after he presented. He felt he was no longer adequate as an older brother, as a caretaker.

 

            And now Dean was taking this on himself, the fact that Sam wanted to go to an Ivy League school and couldn’t afford it was...somehow Dean’s fault. The ass-backwardsness of the whole thing always gave Benny a headache. He wondered if Dean got his overcompensation syndrome from John. It would make sense, as John was always uncomfortable as an omega.

 

            “Dean,” he finally said, pausing in his attempt to remove the battery. “It’s not on you to raise your brother. He’s turned out just fine. It’s time to take the training wheels off, let him coast a little bit.”

 

            He watched Dean attempt to scrub a hand through his hair, one of his tells when he was on the worse side of stressed out, only succeeding in getting engine grease smeared in the strands. “I don’t know if I can do that,” his voice was quiet. His fear was thick and palpable and Benny couldn’t bring himself to reply.

 

* * *

 

            Castiel loved learning new things. That was why he fell into botany the way that he did - there was always something new to learn. He'd pour over history textbooks and devour documentaries, anything to get new information.

 

            However, just because he liked learning didn't necessarily mean that he was good at it. Cars, for instance, made him want to launch his phone at a wall. So when his 1970 Chevelle began to pitch a hissy fit whenever he so much as tapped the brake pedal, he was frustrated beyond words. Cars had never been his forte. He knew that his required more upkeep than most just to keep running, but he loved her sleek lines, the grumble of her engine roaring down the highway. He just couldn't give it up for a civic or whatever else was popular these days. It was also another form of therapy. He could channel alpha rage into the gas pedal, gunning her down open roads, making E-brake turns that were all but impossible in today's fancy cars.

 

            His only option was to flip open the phone book and call Singer Auto and Salvage. They were only a short five miles away, but God forbid Castiel had to hit the brakes somewhere along the ride.

 

            A talkative young man by the name of Garth picked him up with a tow truck. He winced at the whining squeal of the pulley as it tugged his car up the ramp. If there was so much as a new scratch on her, he'd have no choice but to sue, he was sure of it.

 

            Singer Auto and Salvage was a nice auto shop. He'd heard nothing but glowing praise from everyone in the area. They loved the picture windows that allowed them to watch the work being done on their cars, they loved the brotherly companionship from the two regular mechanics. Apparently Garth occasionally found himself under the hood once or twice, but Castiel was hard-pressed to believe him, with his gangly limbs and lopsided gait.

 

            Speaking of which, it didn't seem that Garth came with an off switch. The entire five minutes to the auto shop, he babbled away about nearly everything, so enthusiastic about it all that Castiel couldn't even hear himself think. Yet again, he was reminded of the joy he got at the florists. It was silent, save for the hum of the heat lamps and the trickling water when the automatic hoses came to life, spritzing softly over the leaves and petals.

 

            When they arrived at the shop, Castiel could easily see why it was the most popular garage in the area. The paint seemed fresh, a bright white, with Singer Auto painted in a bright red, bringing attention to its clean windows, the brightly lighted lobby and waiting area. Everything there was so… _bright_. Garth put his car in neutral after getting her off of the platform, rolling her carefully into the garage. He got out, wide grin still on his face. Castiel wondered if it was stuck that way. "Go on into the lobby. Jo or Adam will set you up."

 

            He signed some paperwork, explained his issue to Jo, who then went and explained it and to the mechanic, a friendly southern-accented man with a puffy beard. When he went into the garage to see Castiel's car, he let out a low whistle. "Oh hell no," he murmured. "Dean will kill me if I so much as breathe on this baby."

 

            "Dean?" Castiel asked nervously.

 

            "Our other mechanic," he explained. "This is...beautiful." With that, he turned and walked into the garage.

 

            Who followed him back out was the most beautiful man Castiel had ever laid eyes on. Even through the windows, he could tell that. He had short brown hair. Or was it blonde? It didn't matter. He saw Castiel and turned and winked at him. Castiel remained frozen, eyes following the man. He wore a thin white T-shirt that hugged his biceps and rode up just a bit, exposed a delectable hip bone that swept down to jeans that sat way too low on his hips, bringing attention to a damn perfect ass, a slight sway in his body, bow legs stepping smoothly.

 

            Castiel’s mouth watered.

 

            He watched the man hike his car up on yet another platform and walk underneath it. He scrubbed at his chin thoughtfully before shouting, “Benny!” and the other mechanic came running back in. A few words were exchanged between the pair which Castiel couldn’t hear from the other side of the glass.

 

            And then the beautiful man - Dean - came walking from the doorway. He stuck his hand out to Castiel, grinning. “Hey, I’m Dean.”

 

            Castiel shook his hand, Dean’s palm warm and calloused against his own.

            “So, it looks like it’s your brakes…” the rest of the words disappeared into thin air as Dean’s scent reached Castiel’s nose. It was Christmas and Halloween days all wrapped in a blanket of sweet pine. He felt blood rush south and his thoughts cloud. The scent was somewhat dimmed - damn scent blockers - but it was still potent enough to cause a reaction. It felt familiar, but Castiel couldn’t hold onto the thought; he could barely wrap his mind around the perfection of his scent.

 

            Who the hell was this guy?!

 

            “So it’ll be about three hundred hundred. One hundred for the…” he drifted out again. “And you can pay when it’s ready to be picked up!”

 

            Castiel took a shuddery breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding in. “That’s fine,” he said stiffly, nodding. With that, he turned on his heel and left the garage, leaving Dean standing there in confusion.

 

            He was attractive, Dean had to give him that much. But that was no reason to be a dick. He could smell the lingering scent of marshmallows and wet grass - summer; but that was it. His scent blockers helped ease the intensity of scents around him. Omegas tended to have stronger noses; some evolutionary bullshit to help find a suitable alpha to procreate with. Dean hated it. It was such bullshit that his genes revolted against him like this.

 

            He couldn’t put his finger on it, but this particular Alpha annoyed him for a reason other than his blatant rudeness.

 

            If only he could figure it out.


	2. Moneymaker

            “Alfie, I’m not sure what to tell you,” Castiel mumbled into his phone. “I haven’t hit a rut this hard since my last year in school.”

            Alfie sniffled. “Well, that was only a few years ago, you know.”

            “More like five, but okay.”

            “What’s his name?”

            “We’re not talking about this,” he growled. “I just need a friend to go to the doctor’s appointment with me because I’m not sure what my pheromones are putting off and I don’t want to scare anyone.”

            Alfie sighed. “You know they’ll think we’re mates.”

            Castiel grumbled, “Alf, they always do. I don’t care. I just don’t want to pop off the handle. I need to fix this. Like, _yesterday_.” He’d been in rut for three days. He had to tell Marnie that he couldn’t come in and she only hummed in understanding.

            He was going to the doctor because this was nearly worse that the rut he got his senior year of high school. His knot was nearly painful and he couldn’t wear anything other than sweatpants, or the pain would shoot through his back and legs. Alfie’s petrichor and cool rain could clear Castiel’s head enough to be coherent and explain to the doctor exactly what had happened. Alfie was certain that Castiel was dying. Castiel was certain that something in his alpha genes was malfunctioning.

            Either way, the doctor’s office was not nearly as bad as the disaster Castiel had imagined to be. Alfie sat closely to him, babbling about nothing and occasionally giving Castiel’s knee a reassuring squeeze as they waited.

            When the doctor called Castiel’s name, a gruff “Novak,” Alfie patted Castiel on the back and walked ahead of him, ensuring that his scent was all Castiel got as they walked down the hallways. It quieted the scents of other omegas and flirty betas. He kept his eyes trained on Alfie’s short hair as they walked.

            The moment the door was shut behind him, the doctor turned to Castiel and asked, “is this your mate?”

            Both he and Alfie chorused a “no”, giving the doctor cranky eyes.

            He balked and chose to flip open Castiel’s file, humming to himself. “Hmm, it says here that you were thrown into a spontaneous rut?”

            “Early,” Castiel added. “Two months early, might I add.”

            The doctor hummed again. “That is...unusual,” he pondered. “Did anything specific happen prior to the condition?”

            Castiel growled internally at the fact that his doctor just called rut a “condition”

            “I brought my car to the mechanic,” he said through clenched teeth.

            The doctor’s eyebrows shot up. “Really now?” he exclaimed. “And what happened there?”

            Castiel breathed through his nose, inhaling Alfie’s sweet scent, allowing it to soothe him as his friend waited patiently. “There was a man - the mechanic - and I. He smelled…” Just the memory was making him ache again. “He smelled wonderful. I couldn’t breathe. I was afraid I’d,” he choked on his words for a moment. “I was afraid I’d hurt him.”

            The doctor hummed again and really, that was grating on Castiel’s nerves. Apparently it became obvious in his scent because Alfie put a steadying hand on the back of his neck and Castiel allowed his heartbeat to slow down.

            The doctor seated himself in the chair, looking into Castiel’s downturned eyes. “Considering that you’re unmated...it seems that you’ve found your mate.”

            The air seemed to leave the room all at once. Even Alfie’s scent grew nervous and tense. “Excuse me?” Castiel asked darkly.

            Oblivious (and probably on heavy-duty scent blockers), the doctor continued to scribble in his notepad. “Yes, your symptoms are aligned with those of an unmated alpha. You’ve scented your omega, and now your body is craving him. You should likely mate him soon. Your ruts are just going to get worse until you mate him.”

            “You’re kidding me,” Castiel said flatly.

            The doctor looked up at him calmly. “I am being utterly serious. You could end up in a hospital if you don’t mate him in the next year.”

            With that, Castiel exploded. Not even Alfie’s small, soft presence could calm him. “Are you fucking _serious_?” he shouted. “Do you - do you even understand how dangerous the mating process is? You can hit an omega’s _artery_! You can tear right through them, slick or not! It’s not _safe_!”

            He didn’t even realize that he’d gotten up until he found arms wrapped around each of his own. As the red haze unclouded his vision, he saw Alfie cowering in a corner, hands over his ears. Behind him, two security guards were holding his arms tightly. The doctor was staring up at him from the chair, calmly, as though he were used to nearly getting attacked by angry alphas every day.

            “Mr. Novak, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down or I will see you escorted from this office and you will not be permitted back on these premises ever again.”

            Castiel gently pulled his arms from the grasps of the guards and pushed himself back up on the table. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, carding his fingers through his hair. “This...this is why I don’t want to mate. What if I hurt him? What about Alpha Rage? Is that what just happened to me?” his voice went up a pitch with his fear.

            The doctor tilted his head fondly. “It was not, Mr. Novak. You would have torn me to shreds by now, had it been.”

            “That’s not reassuring,” Castiel deadpanned.

            The doctor shrugged. “I can prescribe you some medication to lessen the effect of your ruts, but that’s not a guarantee. They’ll only work for so long. I suggest you find a therapist to work through these fears so that you can take a mate, otherwise your life will be very...short.” With that, he scribbled something on a sheet of paper, tearing it off and handing it to Castiel. A prescription and a referral. “Have a nice day Mr. Novak.”

            He left the room, the two guards following him, not giving Castiel even a second look. Alfie had uncurled himself from the corner, staring at Castiel warily. “You’re not gonna go all crazy again, are you?” he asked timidly.

            Castiel shook his head. “No, I’m not. If you don’t feel safe riding with me, I can give you some cash for a bus ride home.”

            Alfie smiled at him, albeit, a bit wobbly. “I trust you,” he said softly. “Let’s go home.”

            In that moment, Castiel had never been more thankful for his best friend and his sweet, forgiving nature.

            Castiel knew the stories about alphas who never took their designated omegas as mates. They grew sicker and sicker. It started out slowly - lethargy, lack of appetite. It would quickly spiral downwards until the alpha was bed-ridden and coughing up blood, their body shutting itself down slowly; unable to survive without their predestined mate.

            Castiel wanted it to be a hoax, an elaborate trick. But the way that his doctor had looked at him made him believe it wasn’t. And for the first time in a long time, Castiel was scared.

* * *

 

           Whoever this man was, Dean was in love with his car. The Chevelle was in pristine condition, save for worn brake lines. Even the parking brake cables were close to splitting. Dean couldn’t help but wonder if he raced the car, couldn’t help but wonder what would cause such a constant need of the emergency brake. Her paint was in pristine condition, however, and that didn’t indicate much off-roading. There were no tiny dents from spits of gravel flying up. Her blue paint was shiny as though she’d just been driven off the lot.

            Castiel was slowly but surely becoming even more of a mystery.

            It burned Dean a little bit that he’d just turned away before he even had a chance to finish diagnosing his car. He thought he’d done a good job with the subtle flirting, hoping Castiel knew just how attractive he was; and instead he found himself getting shot down with a stiff reply and sharply turned back.

            Dean was glad his medication worked; the alpha probably reeked something harsh, something to cause Dean to turn his nose up in disgust had he smelled it in fullness. It was times like these that he was incredibly grateful to the advances in medicine and Omega Rights. At one point, it was expected that Omega’s just bend over and take what was given to them - quite literally. Their bodies didn’t know anything else. They’d scent an alpha and immediately be dripping slick, signaling to any alphas in the area that they were ready and willing for a cock and knot.

            And then one day, a man by the name of William Ryder secretly produced a scent suppressor for Omegas. It was one tiny pill, to be taken regularly, that would decrease the sensitivity of the olfactory system. Yes, tastes were dull, but now Omegas could go out in public regularly without having to run home soaking wet. The pill was redeveloped and distributed in secret. Alphas were confused at the lack of having a place to put their knots in. Omegas were able to do everything Alphas and Betas could do.

            There was a huge revolt when Alphas found out that Omegas had scent suppressors at their hands. History books could never accurately estimate the death toll of Omegas. Shortly after that, a group of Betas began the Omega Rights movement. Ten years after William Ryder’s death, a heat suppressor was invented. Another ten years, and birth control was being produced as well.

            Alphas everywhere were in an uproar. How dare their objects of desire have the right to reproductive safety? They were called the “traditional Alphas”. Eventually, everyone shied away from them, unsure of the power of their Alpha Rages or the potential of a “claiming rape”. Traditional Alphas were known for laying claim upon a random Omega on the streets, bringing them home and removing them from their family’s altogether.

            The only reason that Dean knew any of this is because John sat him down regularly and told him more and more of the story. It was a long and painful one, and it made Dean’s heart hurt, even as a stoic, just-presented teenager. The few Omega Rights protests that Dean had participated in (Charlie at his side for each one), he had a special poster that said, “THANK YOU WILLIAM RYDER”. The man had died for the safety of Omegas; Dean wanted his name to live on.

            However, when it came down to it, Dean was always slightly disappointed that he couldn’t taste the full range of flavors when he made his burgers. Before he began taking scent suppressors, he was a master chef, always helping his mother in the kitchen, whipping up cupcakes for Sam. But after he began taking them, Sam often complained of his meals being too salty, or there was too much pepper or garlic in it.

            Dean had to stop cooking for his family.

            However, he still made burgers to his own liking, waffles and pancakes drenched in butter and syrup. He didn’t mind not cooking for someone else; the only thing he missed was the praise he got for it.

            Dean pulled himself from his thoughts, realizing his eyes had crossed; he’d been staring at the Chevelle for so long. He was surprised that Bobby hadn’t come by to whap him on the head with a newspaper. He carefully began to pull the brakes apart, gentle hands and calloused fingers working in tandem to respect the car.

            If only the man driving it showed some respect.

            Dean had to bite his tongue to keep his sudden frustration in check. The last thing that he wanted to do was taking it out on the thing of beauty he was working on in front of him. He ended up working an hour overtime, taking his time and carefully ensuring that each part was where it needed to be, each cable fresh and newly greased.

            It was only when he got home and checked his calendar that he realized the next day was the anniversary of his parents’ death. Sam had already texted him, saying that he was going camping with his girlfriend Ruby (whom Dean was _very_ wary of) and that if he needed anything, he was only a text away.

            Naturally, Sam would make himself unavailable on the day, not wanting to deal with the rollercoaster that Dean would be. Not like Dean could blame him. Sam always had a way of coping better than he did - it typically didn’t involve a bottle of whiskey and stifled tears. He had also gotten a therapist a few years after the accident, able to work through his survivor's’ guilt and live his life. Dean didn’t make it that far, quitting therapy after two sessions and being questioned about his feelings of being a male Omega.

            Unfortunately, because he was predictable, and found himself at the Roadhouse the next night - a bar and grill that Ellen ran. It brought in a steady, albeit small income. It was just enough to skate by and keep their bills paid, with some room for gifts when necessitated. Once he turned twenty-one, Ellen stopped capping his alcohol intake. All she said to him was, “don’t get alcohol poisoning. Jo would hate you if you screwed her night for tips,” indicating that if he did indeed find himself with alcohol poisoning, Jo was the designated driver to the hospital.

            The thought wasn’t nearly as encouraging as it could be.

            Dean took a large swallow of his whiskey, rolling the flavor around his tongue, feeling the slow build of the burn down his throat and coating his stomach. He’d placed himself in the corner of the bar, away from any curious patrons, allowing him to relive the night his parents died in a fuzzy clarity, the fuzziness supplied by the whiskey. Every year, he couldn’t get the memory out of his head. He was sure that he could wake up the next morning, hungover and be able to call his mom and ask to come over for breakfast.

            Every year he was disappointed.

            The more he drank, the clearer the memory became while simultaneously fuzzing even more around the edges.

            They were going out to dinner after Sam’s eighth grade graduation. It was a dumb event - they were all going to end up at the same school anyways. But Sam was excited for it, and John and Mary prodded Dean into sharing the same enthusiasm. They were going to this hole-in-the-wall pizza joint. The crust was just the right combination of crispy and chewy. The sauce was heavenly and the cheese drippy.

            They never made it there.

            In the middle of an intersection, someone drove straight into John and Mary’s car. The crash was so jarring that both of their spinal cords were severed on impact due to whiplash. They were dead in an instant.

            Sam and Dean however, were saved by their parents’ headrests. Both of them had matching bruises across their foreheads and abrasions across their chests - to this day, their scars were still identical.

            Dean screamed himself hoarse when he came to. It wasn’t until he realized how limply their heads hung at an odd angle that his screaming was in vain. For a moment, he froze. And then he heard Sam whimper at his side.

            “Sammy?” he cried, his voice squeaking at the end. “Sammy, talk to me!” He refused to lose his parents and his little brother in the same day; there was no way it could happen.

            With that, though, Sam began to cry in earnest. They immediately quieted into small hiccups, gasps for breath as he realized that the harder he cried, the more the seatbelt would dig into his chest.

            By the time that the ambulance was wailing towards them, Dean was floating. Sam’s hand was clenched tightly in his own as the flashing lights lit up his vision. He vaguely acknowledged the paramedics speaking to him, trying to get him to let go of Sam’s hand. After a moment or two, his brain caught up and he realized he was speaking.

            “My parents are dead, you have to get Sammy, my parents are dead, you have to get Sammy, my parents are…” he trailed off for a moment. “Please don’t let Sammy die, don’t -” his vision blurred and then faded out.

            When he woke up again, he was in a hospital. Breathing hurt; everything hurt. “Sammy!” he yelled, his voice hoarse. “Sammy!” he called louder, waiting for the squeaky pre-pubescent voice of his brother. When he didn’t get a reply, the beeping around him grew louder and faster.

            “Dean? Dean, I need you to calm down for me. Can you do that for me? Your brother is getting a CT scan; you’ve both sustained very serious concussions.” Gradually, his breathing evened out and he stopped hyperventilating.

            Sammy was safe. That’s all that mattered.

            Sammy was safe.

* * *

 [](http://tinypic.com?ref=33u3gis)

            It was a heavy hand on his shoulder that jolted him out of the flashback. Dean lifted his head from his hands and turned to see a man - an Alpha - with a leer on his face. Dean was about to tell him to buzz off, couldn't he tell he was grieving? The man opened his mouth and said, "I'll give you two hundred dollars to wrap those pretty Omega lips around my cock out back."

            Dean had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping. Granted, two hundred wasn't all that much - he made roughly six hundred a week at the garage. But Bobby and Ellen were both trying to set aside money to send Sam to Stanford, so money had been pretty tight lately. So the two hundred could go towards groceries. He liked to put away as much of his paycheck as possible so that one day he could move out and take his financial pressure off of Ellen and Bobby. But for now, he stayed, helping with bills and other amenities.

            In front of him, the man's eyes were so green that they glowed yellow at the right angle in the dim bar lights. His smirk was dangerous and dark, but for some reason Dean found himself abandoning his drink and following the man outside, a grocery list already building in his mind.

            Ten minutes later, Dean remembered why he didn’t like sucking cock. Alphas were always rough and grabby. This Alpha in particular curled his fingers at the base of Dean’s skull and fucked into his mouth without any kind of warning. Dean gagged, and the Alpha laughed. A sense of dread filled his mind and he allowed himself to drift into the furthest corner of his consciousness until the man gave a particularly loud grunt, and came into the condom (Dean at least had standards. He wasn’t going to have a stranger knot-head’s dick down his throat). The warmth sat limply on Dean’s tongue until he pulled back and looked up at the man. “My money?” he finally croaked.

            A sneer curled on the Alpha’s face as he thrust a wad of bills at Dean. “The name’s Azazel,” he said in response. “May we see one another again.” And with that, he left the alley, leaving Dean with a stomach ache he’d never experienced.

            No amount of whiskey, toothpaste or Listerine could get the feel of the heavy condom, filled with spunk out of Dean's mouth. Part of him hated what he'd just done, part of him was glad to have the money but most of him was happy that he didn't get turned on -  that no slick stuck to the backs of his legs as he stood up from the asphalt, knees popping in protest. It was the strangest feeling of relief and self-loathing he'd ever experienced.

            When Dean offered to do the grocery shopping the next day, no one questioned anything. When he stuffed the fridge to its limit, still not a question was asked. It dawned on him as he laid down that night that no one knew what he’d just done. He was flip-flopping between disappointment and euphoria from it.

            At work the next day, he was off. He was off so much that Benny gave him a wide berth and Bobby even pulled him aside to say, “you close to your next heat, son? You’re supposed to tell me so I can get coverage that isn’t Garth.”

            Dean shrugged off Bobby’s concerned hand and snapped, “I’m fine. I’ve got another two weeks.” Bobby put his hands up in defense and walked away.

            Was he guilty? Was he proud of himself?

            He couldn’t figure out an answer.

            Dean was cornered by Azazel again a week later. He was back in the corner at the Roadhouse, picking his way through a basket of French fries and his third beer.  He’d had a long week, and the only redeeming quality was that they’d had a full fridge, and he was able to cook dinner for everyone a couple of times (even though he couldn’t taste much of it, dammit). Azazel came up behind him and trailed a finger down Dean’s neck and he nearly choked on his beer. He could _hear_ Azazel’s leer as he whispered, “ready for round two?”

            Dean paused, trying to catch his breath, and said, “how much? And for what?”

            Azazel’s pause was longer than Dean’s. “Think my knot will fit between those lips?”

            Dean was disappointed when, indeed, it did.

* * *

 

            Even though Castiel could comfortably live off of his inheritance for at least ten years, he wanted to earn his keep. His time at the florists was rewarding and peaceful; everything he really wanted. He met wonderful people as well; an old man who brought daisies to his wife’s grave every week. There was a yoga instructor who got into a fight with his boyfriend and asked Castiel to build him a “forgiveness bouquet”.

            He was grateful for his job - every single day, without fail. Even when the misters broke and he had to spend the rest of his shift drenched and squeaking. Even when a frightfully cranky woman was so dissatisfied with her flowers that she launched them, vase and all, at Castiel before storming out. He handled it with grace, and decided to leave it out of his summary when Alfie asked him about his day later.

            The medication that the doctor gave him were scent blockers and a rut inhibitor. It dulled things just slightly at the florists, but it was tolerable and at least he wasn’t aching for his mate. The pull was still there, just easier to ignore. It was still mentally taxing, knowing that his mate, Dean, was down the street and Dean didn’t even realize it. Every fiber in Castiel’s being begged to mate him - except for one. Part of him was utterly terrified of what he might do to his Omega - and it kept him from ever going after him. The doctor also recommended a therapist that Castiel was avoiding with all his might, if not more than the strength it was taking to ignore Dean.

            However, the universe seemec to have other plans. It became apparent that the car he adored so much didn’t share the same feelings towards him. It was violently and loudly rebelling against him. Not two months after picking up his car from Singer Auto, his brakes began to whine. The first time it happened, Castiel nearly cried. He knew right away what it meant - the wear indicators were making themselves known, informing him that it was time for new brakes.

            “Fuck me!” he all but shouted, palming the steering wheel harshly and squeezing his eyes shut. There was no way this could get any worse.

            Naturally, it did.

            When Castiel finally got fed up with the squealing of his brakes, he reluctantly brought his car back to Singer Auto. Jo greeted him when he walked it, chipper and smelling dangerous and on edge. It took him a moment or two that it was nothing personal, that she had to do that to keep handsy Alphas off of her. He couldn’t imagine how exhausting that could be.

            Castiel waited patiently for Benny to bring his car to the garage and explain to him the cost and labor that it’d take and was instead nearly knocked off his feet by the sight of Dean rounding the corner. Apparently the universe did hate him that much. His shirt and jeans were grease-stained, he had a swipe of what appeared to be oil across his cheek. His hair was sweaty and he wore a proud smile. Thanks to the blockers that Castiel was now taking religiously, all he smelled were subtle hints of pine, nothing like the mouth-watering aroma he’d gotten the last time.

            Instead of flirtatious and energetic, Dean seemed mellow, quieter. In that moment, the blockers were frustrating because Castiel wanted to scent the actual emotion on Dean. Sadness? Distrust? Melancholy? He couldn’t tell.

            Dean raised an eyebrow at Castiel. “So, your rotors are entirely torn to shit and your brake pads aren’t much better. You gotta take better care of this baby, or I might take her off your hands.” The joke fell flat; Dean couldn’t muster the energy to complete his humor.

            Castiel swallowed, wanting to banter back, but instead, he blurted, “are you okay?”

            Dean paused, startled for a moment. “Yeah, I’m just running on too few hours of sleep.” Castiel wanted to ask why, wanted to learn everything he could about Dean, why he wasn’t sleeping, what he liked to do to help himself sleep. Dean continued talking and Castiel bit his tongue. “Anyways, it’ll be like two to three hours. It’s just me and Garth on today and I don’t want to overwhelm the poor kid. He’s been under the hood of a Toyota for most of the morning. Is that alright?”

            “Absolutely,” Castiel agreed quickly.

            Castiel tried to ignore his biological feelings for Dean, tried to shove them far away so that he could think about other things. He ended up buying a coffee for Dean, though, wanting to provide for him in any way that he could, desperate to please him, at least from a distance. When Castiel came back with the coffee held out like an olive branch, Dean all but moaned in appreciation of the gesture, wiping his hands on his jeans before snatching the cup. Castiel watched his adam’s apple bob as he two hearty swigs of the beverage and he had to think of Gabriel naked to encourage his knot to stay _down_.

            He paid and tried not to allow his gaze to follow Dean back into the garage.

            As he got back into his car, he finally called the therapist.

            Her name was Missouri. She was a busty black woman with a to-the-point voice that left no room for bullshit. She opened the session with, “Doctor Crowley tells me that you’re afraid to mate.” Castiel’s mouth opened and closed for a moment before he settled on nodding. “Why? He says that you’ve found your mate. You’re putting yourself in grave danger by ignoring that.”

            With that, Castiel took off full-tilt. “Do you know how many Omegas die each year from mating bites gone wrong? Or torn sphincters? It’s fucking dangerous! I can’t put my Omega at risk like that.”

            When did he start thinking of Dean as ‘his’?

            “One in ten thousand,” Missouri said blandly.

            Castiel blinked. “Pardon?”

            “That’s how many Omegas die each year from mating processes. And it’s been found that at least eighty percent of those are because the Alphas are already more inclined towards violence. Do you have a violent history, Castiel?”

            Castiel shook his head vigorously. “No, I- It’s quite the opposite. I work at a florists, I do yoga on the weekends, I played soccer in high school, I - I meditate and go to the gym -”

            “All things that are considered to stifle an Alpha’s inherently rough nature towards Omegas, correct?”

            “Yeah,” Castiel said quietly, looking down at his folded hands.

            Missouri stared at him in silence for a moment before asking him some other questions about his family and his childhood. At the end of the session, she said "there's something you're not telling me. But we can get to that later. Does this time work for you next week?" Castiel nodded dumbly. She handed him her card and saw him out of her office. As he left, he had the strangest sense of relief. Was this therapy?

            He had never intended to discuss his family history, or why they were all Alphas. He had his own ideas and opinions but no one had ever sat him down and said "this is why our family sucks". At least, that was Gabriel's take on it. "Our family is a bunch of assholes," he said. Castiel couldn't argue that.

            It took him another week and some prodding from Missouri to call Gabriel and ask him to come to lunch. In the middle of Panera, eating their respective meals, Castiel told Gabriel that he had found his mate. In retrospect, he could have waited until he wasn't sitting directly across from Gabriel with a full mouth. He very nearly got soup all over him.

            "You're kidding," Gabriel said flatly.

            "No, unfortunately," Castiel lamented.

            "Unfortunately?! This is great news! Where are they? When can I meet them?"

            "You won't."

            Gabriel looked at him bewildered. "What the hell do you mean, I won't? I want to know the Omega who stole my cousins' knot!"

            "Will you _shut up_ ," Castiel hissed. "I'm not mating him!"

            "Why the hell not?!" Gabriel exclaimed loudly, drawing looks from a few patrons.

            Castiel sighed, putting his sandwich down. "I refuse to hurt him. I can't do that to him. He's beautiful, and free, and I don't want him to lose that. Besides, he's on scent suppressors - he has no idea that I'm his mate."

            Gabriel glared at him, taking an angry bite of his sandwich. "That is such bullshit and you know it. If this is _still_ about Lucifer -"

            "Do not talk to me about him," Castiel growled darkly.

            Gabriel only quirked an eyebrow at him. "Oh, you are just a basket of issues, aren't you?" he said gleefully.

            "Shut up," he grumbled into his sandwich. "I already have a therapist to tell me that."

            Gabriel looked impressed. "So you finally took my advice! It's about time!"

            "My doctor's advice."

            "Whatever, you did it." He lowered his voice. "You do realize that what you're doing is far more dangerous than a mating bite, right?"

            "The risks are just too great-"

            "Fuck the risks!" Gabriel hissed. "Have you heard of a single Alpha who's survived finding their mate and _not_ mating them?" Stubbornly, Castiel shook his head. "Exactly. So go ahead and ask the guy out. Tell him over a cup of coffee and then take him home and -"

            "Gabe, that's the _exact_ reason I can't! Why does it have to be 'take'? He's his own person. Why can't it be a mutual exchange of pleas-"

            "Oh shut up. Do it how you want. But unless you intend on sinking those pretty little incisors into his neck, you've just laid down in your deathbed."

            Castiel's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't thought about it like that yet. He wasn’t sure he wanted to think about it like that.

           

            It was another three appointments before Missouri was able to pry the story about Lucifer out of Castiel. It began subtly with open ended questions: “did something happen that brought about this fear?” and “do you know the definition of phobia?” Finally, at the start of their fourth session, she slid a piece of paper over to him on the table. It was a newspaper clipping with the headline, “ _Novak found GUILTY!_ ” On it was a photo of Lucifer, eyes sunken from lack of sleep, a week’s worth of stubble on his chin and a smirk that bordered on predatory.

            The article detailed his trial for raping a young Omega in his first heat. Lucifer had torn his sphincter, broken his wrist and crushed his vocal cords under rough hands. The young boy remained in a hospital for months after the fact. Lucifer hadn’t tried being careful; he’d left DNA all over the boys broken body.

            The Novak family paid for the best possible lawyer who got Lucifer to take a plea bargain, to lessen his jail time. They also immediately paid off the young boys’ medical bills, along with an extra ten thousand dollars in a savings account for whatever may be needed. Castiel imagined that much of it had to have gone towards therapy.

            “Do you want to tell me about this?” Missouri asked softly. Castiel remained stock still, holding the clipping in trembling hands. “We don’t have to discuss it today, but I do believe it has a lot to do with what you’re coping with.” Castiel noticed she didn’t say ‘dealing’. She used ‘coping’, as though Castiel were actively working through it.

            Almost unconsciously, the article crunched in between his fingers. “He came home reeking of heat that night,” he whispered. “No one said anything. Why would they? We’re a family of Alphas. Father’s only problem was that we don’t mate Omegas; we mate Betas and only Betas, so why would we bother fucking an Omega? It ensured a strong gene line. The cops came the next day. Lucifer looked...so proud of himself. He had just destroyed the life of this young boy and he was...gleaming. It was disgusting.

            “And my family brushed it off like nothing. It was like “oh honey our eldest just raped someone, good thing our lawyer is on speed dial”. It was gross. And I just. I couldn’t get my head around it, you know? Why are Omegas lower than us? Why aren’t they equals? Why do we have to h-h-hurt,” it was then that Castiel realized he was shaking all over, his breath coming in short pants. “Why do we have to hurt them to be with them?” he finally whispered.

            Missouri was looking at him with sympathetic, sad eyes, but still, she said nothing, aware that Castiel’s story was far from over.

            “I vowed to never hurt an Omega like that. I joined the Omega Rights club on campus and used scent suppressors so that I could go to protests. I felt like a knight in shining armor to some of these young kids. I met this girl with like, six black belts, and we helped transform this old craft shop into an Omega krav maga dojo.” He paused. “I did such good work,” he whispered.

            “You don’t want to become your family,” Missouri surmised. Castiel nodded dejectedly. She shrugged. “Seems to me like you’ve been doing a good job of that.” At Castiel’s confused look, she continued. “You fought your nature as soon as you presented. You knew and know what you don’t want to become. You’ve taken part in Omega Rights and with all the work you’ve done, I think even William Ryder would be proud of you.” At that, Castiel quirked a small smile. “But you can’t hold your brothers actions as your own responsibility.”

            Castiel’s smile faded. “I will do anything to keep myself from becoming him.”

            Missouri raised an eyebrow. “Even kill yourself?”

* * *

  [](http://tinypic.com?ref=33u3gis)

            Dean’s visits with Azazel were gradually growing rougher. It started with getting hotel rooms now, instead of bathroom or alley visits. And then Azazel told him to wear panties, which devolved into wearing a tutu as well. He’d fuck Dean’s hole with toys that grew larger by the week. Dean was exhausted come morning, staggering into work, double fisting coffee. It was worth it, he tried to convince himself. The account he’d opened for Sam’s school was gradually increasing, gaining more interest every month. Dean began to set aside fifty bucks for himself to aid his paycheck from Bobby’s garage.

            Azazel always paid him in cash, unwilling to allow the whore he paid for to show up in his accounts; the whore that Dean had become. If Dean’s bank felt any kind of way about the sudden increase of deposits, they kept it to themselves. Dean was getting used to it, rolling with the new way that things worked in his life. The lack of sleep three nights a week, the weekly trips to the bank. It was Dean Winchester’s New Life.

            The first time that Azazel hit him though; that came as a surprise. He was fisting his dick in front of Dean’s face, telling Dean to touch himself. He jacked himself pathetically, unable to get completely hard, his dick not really interested in the current events. Azazel grew more frustrated, jacking himself harder and then finally slapped Dean harshly across the face, his ring smarting across Dean’s cheek. He came with a gasp, almost like he surprised himself, spilling over Dean’s face. Dean kept his mouth shut tight, knowing Azazel was well aware of his rules. A towel was thrown at him to clean himself up.

            Afterwards, Azazel pulled Dean uncomfortably close and apologized for hitting him. "I just want you to feel the pleasure that I do," he crooned apologetically. Dean wasn't sure he believed him.

            The ring left a noticeable bruise across Dean’s face that he struggled to cover up with Sam’s new girlfriend's makeup. She mysteriously lost her compact foundation when Dean got home late the night and she and Sam were asleep on each other on the couch.

            It was futile though, the purple and red were still present on his face— however, it was muted by the makeup he’d patted on over the bruise. At work, he told the guys and Jo that he’d dropped a wrench on his face, startled by an impatient customer. Later that night, he told Ellen the same excuse, but she looked at him skeptically, in that scary way that only a mom could.

            Dean couldn’t tell what was worse; Ellen potentially knowing he was lying, or the fact that he even had to lie about the situation at all.


	3. Hospital Beds

It had been a late evening. Usually Castiel could have the shop cleaned up and closed by four, but today nothing seemed to work in his favor. The cash register jammed, someone decided to allow their dog to run inside and their happy tail wagging knocked down a row of freshly seeded planters. Someone decided to steal a rose while he had his back turned. All in all, the day had been rough and all Castiel wanted to do was go home and watch a documentary with a nice cup of tea.

Instead, as he was locking up behind him, someone walked directly into him, dropping a box at his feet. Several plastic-wrapped comic books scattered to the ground. He gasped, immediately dropping to his knees to pick up the mess he'd made.

A girl with fire red hair knelt down next to him, muttering to herself. She smelled like a beta, not confrontational, but certainly not submissive either. "I'm so sorry! It's just. It's been such a long day and I couldn't get a parking spot right out front and I just totally plowed into you and you're trying to go home -"

"I'm guessing you're the new owner of that empty space next to me?" He interrupted her with a small smile.

She nodded excitedly. "Comic Kamikaze!"

Castiel grinned. "Very catchy. I admire that. Let me help you with your things. I'm assuming this isn't your only merchandise."

"Oh you don't have to do that! You're trying to go home!"

Castiel only shrugged. "I ought to help my new neighbor move in. What's your name?"

She propped the newly filled box on her hip and stuck her hand out. "Charlie Bradbury! Nice to meet you, Castiel!" At his confused head tilt, she laughed a little bit. “When the property was sold me, the realtor said she knew you; told me you were a nice young man, a stunning example of what an Alpha should be!”

Castiel snorted into his shoulder. “Yes, that sounds like her. Come on, let’s help you unload and then I’ll be on my way.”

Charlie gabbed endlessly as they unloaded her van. She was peppy and cheerful, thoroughly thanking Castiel every time they went back for another handful of boxes. When they were finished, slightly out of breath and quiet, she watched Castiel run a finger through a thin film of dust and sighed. “I know it doesn’t look like much,” she murmured. “But soon it will be Comic Kamikaze, owned by Charlie and Gilda, and we’ll have a bunch of cute little kids in here arguing about what gender designation Batman was because they never specify whether he’s Alpha or - oh man I’m totally boring you, aren’t?”

Castiel smiled gently. “Absolutely not. That is quite the dream you have there. One day, I hope to open my own arboretum.”

Charlie's face softened. "That'll be great, Castiel. I hope to see it one day."

Over the next month, he and Charlie developed a gentle kind of friendship. She brought him coffee, he would bring her muffins. She would babble endlessly about the war between DC and Marvel, showing him her plastic-wrapped comic books that she was setting out on shelves and tables. Castiel explained to her the difference between perennials and annuals, teaching her how to weed plants carefully, as to not upset the roots.

And then one day, Charlie cornered him as he was leaving. “What are you doing on Thursday?”

His brow furrowed. “Um. Nothing, yet.”

She grinned at him, looking near feral. “You should totally come to our movie marathon night!”

“Our?”

She nodded. “Marvel marathon this month. You should come, it’ll be awesome, we’re always looking to make new friends.” He’d heard of Marvel through her; it was only the dominating force in comic books and movies. However, he hadn’t watched any of them, and something told him to keep his mouth shut about that little tidbit.

            Castiel didn’t frequently watch action movies. He preferred documentaries, or romantic comedies. Naturally, he panicked and immediately asked if Alfie could join him. Charlie, of course, said yes. Alfie, of course, immediately began to fret over the proper social etiquette of a movie night and his scent immediately shifted from sweet roses to crushed roses.

            They ended up making a batch each of brownies and cookies, and Alfie produced a coupon for a large pizza. Charlie’s eyes lit up when she opened the door and immediately zeroed in on the bags full of baked goods. She squealed, grabbed both Castiel and Alfie, dragging them into the house. “I have a feeling we’re going to be best friends.” Halfway down the hall, someone grabbed Alfie’s arm and Castiel was helpless to watch his best friend disappear into the living room with someone Castiel could only guess was Gilda.

            He was suddenly whirled and brought face to face with Jo. “How do you know Charlie?” she demanded. “And who is that cutie with you?!”

            He sighed. “Charlie and I work next to each other. We’ve gotten to know one another quite well over the months.” Jo stared at him expectantly. “And that’s my friend Alfie. Don’t get your hopes up; he doesn’t date.”

            “Is he gay?”

            “No.”

            “Is he aromantic?”

            “...I don’t think so.”

            “So he’s capable of dating?”

            “I suppose.”

            Jo beamed at him. “So there’s hope. With that, she sauntered away, hips swaying slightly. For a beta, she could be utterly terrifying. Castiel wasn’t quite ready to test her.

            They had just gotten settled, popcorn in the microwave, desserts decorating the table when the front door burst open and a very familiar voice yelled out, “the party has _arrived_!” Castiel’s heart sank into his stomach and he tried to shoved himself into the couch, as though he could hide from his body’s natural instinct to seek out his mate.

            There was a hushed conversation in the kitchen and then Dean came barreling into the room, dropping heavily onto the couch right next to Castiel. “Sup, Cas?” He grinned at him. “Charlie told me that Jo stole your friend over there and that you might be feeling lonely.”

            Castiel swallowed thickly. He wasn’t feeling lonely, per se… “Um, I - well, I don’t really…”

            “Aw, you’re gonna hurt a guy’s feelings. Have you ever seen Iron Man?”

            “Well. Uh, no.”

            With that, Dean launched into a full synopsis of the first movie and Castiel tightened all of his muscles, resisting the urge to lean over and bury his nose in Dean’s hair. The scent blockers were frustrating in that he longed to smell his Omega, pure and clean. The blockers felt like a pillow was stuffed under his nose, muting the scent, but it was still there, just less noticeable, in a way.

            Castiel had hoped to find Alfie across the room, panicking in the presence of females like he always did. Instead, he found Alfie sitting in an armchair, Jo leaning against it. They were chatting amiably. Castiel couldn’t scent him over everything else in the room, or Dean’s very presence, but he appeared to be enjoying himself; not stressing in the way that he always did.

            That alone was distressing.

            At one point another young man plonked down next to Dean. In an instant, Castiel realized they were brothers. If Sam’s scent hadn’t given it away, Castiel would have known by their easygoing banter, the way that Dean snarkily called him “Sammy”, and Sam’s cranky rebuttals. It was fun, watching the two of them interacting. Dean had belatedly introduced them, long after Castiel had caught Sam’s name. When Dean confessed that Castiel had never seen any Marvel movies (how had he let that one slip?) Sam was affronted, as though he not watching the movies was some kind of personal vendetta. He and Dean pulled Castiel into their banter until Charlie told them to “shut the fuck up and watch or go take your incestuous flirting to the kitchen.”

            Throughout the night, Castiel was hyperaware of Dean’s presence at his side - the heat of Dean’s leg against his, the light of the movie shining across Dean’s face. It was all too much. He wanted too much; he felt that he was going to drown in his desire, muted and muffled as it was.

            And then the worst possible thing happened. About a quarter of the way through the third movie, Dean dozed off, his head drooping, and then lolling off to the side. His breath was heavy and deep. It was cute, watching his whole body relax in a way that Castiel had never seen while Dean was working.

            Except his head lolled right onto Castiel’s shoulder. For a split second, Castiel felt a horrifying break in his self-control. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself grab Dean and flip him over and knot him right over the side of the couch. In a breath, the visual was gone, leaving him shaken and terrified.

            Before he got up, working his way from underneath Dean’s slack body, he bent his head and inhaled deeply. The scent he got was congested and not nearly as heady as it had once been, but he was able to catch the slightest whiff of what overcame him that first time he’d seen Dean. It felt nearly familiar - almost nostalgic - but he couldn’t put his finger on why.

 

The next time his car threw another tantrum was about two months later. He was tired, more tired than he could say was normal as he got ready to go to Marnie's. However, as he tried to start his car, it made a sad, grinding _click, click, click._ He groaned, pressing his head into the steering wheel. “Of course,” he muttered. “Of fucking course.”

He called Marnie and then dialed Singer Auto - yet again. Jo picked up, her voice sweet and perky, and he could feel her laughter through the phone when he said, “it’s Castiel.”

“Alright Cas. I’ll call Garth to come tow your car and let Dean know it’s coming in.”

Castiel’s breath caught in his throat. “Why Dean?”

Jo snorted. “He’s in love with your car dude. He'd be pissed if I let someone else work on it."

Castiel swallowed. "What if I wanted - what if someone else did it?"

Jo immediately grew serious. "Why? Are you not satisfied? Because if that's the case, we've got a survey you can fill out and -"

"No, no! I - I am satisfied. I just wondered if, if customers had a say."

"Oh of course! Just gotta let us know. Garth should be to your place in a few minutes. See you soon Castiel!” she hung up far too cheerfully, jarring Castiel just slightly.

This time - the third time around - Castiel was used to Garth and his strange attitude. He seemed like he was on too many uppers, but Castiel could see the depth in his eyes; he’d seen some pain. So Castiel settled down with the acceptance that Garth was probably on several drugs, but he was always cheerful company, and it did some good to get himself out of his melancholy thoughts. With how tired he was lately, it was hard not to get annoyed, but he managed to lose himself in Garth’s chatter until he announced, “and here we are! Give us a few minutes and then you can talk to Dean.”

Like last time, he watched them raise the Chevelle up and felt the initial sting of panic as her tires left the ground. Even though he didn’t know anything about his car, he loved her and the smooth way she would (normally) run. He found solace in her leather seats and opera music he’d played right after he got her.

He bit his cheek. Now he was waxing poetic about his damn car.

He smelled Dean before he saw him. It was subtle, much more tolerable. His body still sung happily at him, “ _mate, mate, my mate_ ” but he could only just barely scent him; enough to know that he was walking up behind him. “Cas, man, I feel like I need to confiscate your poor car and put you in time out.”

Castiel shrugged sheepishly as he turned. “You might have to. I do admit, even though I know nothing about cars, I love her to death. I’ve entrusted you to take care of her for me.”

Dean’s eyes softened at the sentiment. “I totally understand, dude. So, uh. You haven’t changed your oil in what I’m assuming, is a very long time. That was that clicking sound you heard. Your engine seized. It’ll be fast to change your oil, but I’ll need to do a little bit more to make sure you didn’t do any more permanent damage to your engine. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds perfect,” Castiel smiled. “Can I - Can I, um...watch?”

Dean grinned. “Hell yeah! What do you think that viewing glass is for? Come on over.” When Dean went around to the other side, he winked at Castiel before moving underneath the car to begin the process of the oil change.

Castiel was unsure of how much time had passed, relaxed and at ease, watching his mate work calmly, doing what he did best. It was impossible to not feel relaxed, having his mate in his sight for an extended amount of time. It was an itch he was ignoring, the urge to bite him, to mate him. It was an itch growing ever worse, but for now, it was tolerable.

Dean was bent over Castiel’s Chevelle, carefully peering and poking at the engine and parts around it. Through the glass, Castiel watched curiously. He was always wondering how Dean managed to do his work, how deft his hands were with the insides of a car. Dean could hear him breathing softly, his heightened senses tuning into Castiel, just out of reach. His scent filled his nose from around the viewing window and wall, overcoming the smell of engine grease and oil. Dean swallowed and tried to breathe through his mouth instead, leaning over further into the car.

Castiel's loud gasp was the only thing that told him he'd done something wrong. His scent went from something sweet to dark in a single breath. Dean suddenly found himself flipped around, back pressed tightly against the driver's side door. Castiel held his wrists in a surprisingly gentle grip, though his face was furious, a snarl building in his throat. "Who did this?" he growled.

Dean was frozen. It was almost everything he didn’t know he wanted. He could feel Castiel's lithe body all over his own, his breath moving over his face. The only thing that brought fear to his system was the scent of Castiel's anger. It smelled of charred wood; dark and dangerous. Dean couldn't find the breath to answer. Castiel continued to stare hard at him, pressing him into the car. He was all red eyes and a heavy, angry chest.

It was Jo's shouts that brought Dean back to Earth. Jo was struggling to pull Castiel away-which, realistically, was the dumbest thing she could have done. She was a tiny beta, he was an Alpha with the body of a god. However, her feeble grabs at Castiel's arms brought him back down. He stepped away from Dean, putting a hand over his mouth. "Oh god," he whispered. "Oh no. Dean I'm so sorry. I know it doesn't excuse my actions, but I saw the bruise and I can't stand the thought of someone hurting you. I'm so sorry, I'll just go,"

Jo glared at him. "Yeah. Go. Someone else will-"

"No," Dean finally spoke up. Jo cocked her head at him, gawking.

“Dean, he just -”

“Reacted,” Dean finished her sentence. “Rightfully so.”

“What the fuck is he talking about?” Jo squeaked. “What bruise?!”

Dean sighed, trying to adjust his shirt. He knew these ones were shrinking, he just kept forgetting to go out and buy more. “Jo, please leave it alone. I think there’s a customer waiting for you out front.”

Jo glared at him, and without a word, turned and stalked back out front.

Castiel was practically cowering against the wall, eyes guilty and worried.

Dean ran a dirty hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. “Cas, man….I can’t tell you.”

Despite his guilt, another growl found its way up Castiel’s throat. He coughed, swallowing it down. “Dean, if you’re in danger, please let me help you.”

Dean’s eyes were sad. “You can’t help me,” he whispered. “Please just...go. I’ll take care of your car for you. But I can’t...not here.” His words were choked.

And Castiel, his heart hurting for his Omega, an Omega who didn’t even know that fate had claimed him as Castiel’s, turned and walked away.

He sat in the waiting room for over an hour, Jo glaring daggers at him from across the room. Even as she answered the phone, cheerful as ever, her eyes never left Castiel; he could feel every ounce of anger directed against him. She had every right to be angry with him, he knew that much. He was lucky that she didn’t call the cops on him.

Fear poured through his system as he waited. What would have happened had he lost control?

 _What would have happened had he lost control?_ Dean thought, his hands shaky. Castiel had been in the right, but what would have happened if the bruises were more; if Azazel had left bruises from the time he’d lifted Dean in a choke hold, screaming that Dean was broken because he couldn’t come.

He shuddered. In an Alpha Rage, Castiel would probably be able to scent Azazel and then go off and find him. He’d be in jail for the rest of his life, for succumbing to such a base instinct.

There was something about Castiel that was painfully familiar, yet just out of Dean’s grasp of recall. But it made him feel marginally safe, which was an accomplishment, the rougher that Azazel got with him.

Thank God Castiel hadn’t lost control.

* * *

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=33u3gis)

Charlie was beginning to pick up that something was wrong. She noticed when she offered to make Dean his own hamburger, extra spices and everything, and he declined. She sat down across from him and jokingly asked him if the end of the world was nigh. Dean ignored her and continued reading his auto magazine. It was only when she put her hand over his that he looked up. Her eyes were sad. “You know you can tell me if something’s wrong, right?” Dean nodded. “So...you’d tell me if something was wrong?” Dean choked down his words and only nodded again. She sighed, dissatisfied with the response. “Well...if you won’t talk to me, will you come to Comic Kamikaze with me tonight? The place is really coming together.”

Dean shook his head, regret burning in his stomach. He had another appointment with Azazel that evening. He was beginning to regret ever continuing the arrangement, but as he watched Sam’s college account grow, he realized he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t let his little brother fall into debt for wanting to be a bigshot lawyer; for wanting to make something of himself. It had always been his job to care for Sam, even after presenting. His mother ensured that nothing had changed; he was still Dean’s little brother and it was his duty to keep Sam out of trouble.

And that included debt.

Dean had begun to drift during he and Azazel’s sessions. His mind would take him elsewhere, begging off to not acknowledge the abuse that he was sustaining. Azazel yelled at him, called him dirty names (“you’re such an Omega slut. You’d be better off on the streets, I swear.”) And then Dean was caught off guard. A stripe of pain whipped down his back, and he cried out, back bowing.

He heard Azazel’s dark chuckle behind him. “Yes, present yourself to me.”

Dean turned his head to see a flogger in Azazel’s grasp. The sight of it only served to make the pain searing up Dean’s back worse. “You’re such a whore,” he spit, and Dean flinched as he drew closer. “You know that’s what you are, right? A _whore_. I’m paying you for this.”

A coil of courage built in Dean’s throat and he found himself hissing, “yeah, because no one would ever want this for free.”

Azazel’s growl was thunderous and white hot pain shot down Dean’s back, over, and over, and over.

And next thing he knew, he was waking up in the hotel room, alone. A stack of bills were next to his face. _Okay, that’s a good sign. He didn’t stiff me_. Especially for that shit; Dean never asked to be whipped. He wasn’t even sure why Azazel thought that’d be a good idea.

He started to roll over and then yelped, sitting upright, and then yelped again. Every movement was fiery and painful, scores of aches running down his back. He carefully peeled himself off of the floor. He looked down at his stomach, surprised to see rivulets of dried blood down his sides.

 _Shit, shit, shit_. He could barely stand without passing out from the pain. He weighed his options carefully before picking up the hotel phone and slowly dialed 9-1-1. He could only whisper the room number before gently laying himself across the bed on his stomach, and waited.

He drifted in and out of sleep, barely stirring at the pounding on the door. He felt himself being carefully lifted and then laid out again on a harsh scratchy surface. He vaguely heard the words being said, “non-responsive...in shock.”

In the ambulance, sirens wailing dimly in his ears, he couldn’t help but recall how familiar this all felt. Yet again, he was in the back of an ambulance, except this time he wasn’t crying to keep Sammy safe, he was crying because every time he was jostled, another rocket of pain shot up his back.

He lifted his fingers, trying to get the attention of the EMT. “Sir, sir can you hear me? Are you trying to say something?” A woman’s blurry face came into view.

Throat dry, he managed to choke out, “I didn’t mean to.”

* * *

 

The skin on his back was practically flayed like a steak, stripped raw. He was still lying on his stomach, gauze wrapped tightly all around him, covered in an ointment that smells sterile, almost like stale bread. The doctors kept needling him for his emergency contact information, but he kept his mouth shut tight. What if Azazel found out he’d gone to the hospital? What if he found out the police had been called (albeit against Dean’s will)?

Finally, with several sips of water, he was able to whisper, “Castiel.”

The doctors tutted as Dean wracked his brain, trying to remember his last name. He’d seen it before, on the paperwork handed to him after finishing work on the car. It clicked suddenly, and he couldn’t help his snap of, “Castiel _Novak_.”

And then, before he could process the amount of time that had gone by, Castiel was suddenly there, eyes watery as the doctor explained what had happened to Dean, and bitchy as ever, Dean cut him off, “I’m right here you douche. Stop talking about me like I’m not in the room.”

Castiel knelt down beside the bed and swallowed thickly. “Did...did they do this to you too?” he asked quietly. Dean refused to meet his eyes. “Why did you have them call me?”

Dean pursed his lips before saying, “you’re the only one who knows. I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

“But...why not just tell the police-?”  
            “Because it’s none of their business!” he shouted, before groaning in pain. “Fuck, just...are you going to help me out here, or not? I can’t afford to stay in the hospital for two weeks just to have gauze changed every four hours.”

Castiel frowned, but nodded anyways. The discharge seemed to take far too long, and Castiel was able to watch Dean's eyes go distant, as though he were going elsewhere as they waited.

He was miserable, tired and lethargic. It felt as though he were carrying five pound weights on each of his limbs. Getting the phone call that his mate was injured only served to increase his exhaustion. Finding out that the same person who had left the bruises was the same person who hurt Dean this time around nearly threw him into a Rage. He swallowed and breathed shallowly, in through his nose, out through his mouth, the way that he was taught to. It almost didn't help; the grasp on his control was tenuous.

It was only hearing Dean's painful breaths that brought him back down to earth. The doctor was still explaining himself when Dean snapped at them angrily from the hospital bed. It filled him with joy to hear his anger and how annoyed he was. No matter how much pain he was in, Dean was still himself. It was somewhat reassuring.

His scent was dull, duller than it had been ever before. Castiel could hardly scent his mate over the sterile smell of antibiotic ointment and the troubling sting of fear that blanketed what Dean's scent would normally be, with suppressants or otherwise.

On the ride back to his house, Castiel had to open the window to rid the Chevelle of the stinging scent. Rage was quietly simmering within him, subtle and overwhelming all the same. It had been at least a month since the incident at the garage and while Dean had forgiven him, he was positive that Jo never would.

In the long run, though, all he really needed was his Omega's forgiveness and he had that, so...nothing else quite mattered.

Except for his safety which, at this point, was questionable. Dean spent the car ride hunched over, careful not to pull at the glue holding his back together or the gauze carefully wrapped around him.

The doctor strictly said the wrappings needed to be changed every four hours, lest the wounds get infected and Dean fall ill. Castiel listened intently, and intended to do his best. Walking Dean up the stairs to his apartment was a challenge because he couldn't put a hand to his back to steady him. Instead, Castiel held his hand and carefully placed the other hand on Dean's hip as they walked up. Even more carefully, Castiel laid Dean out on his own bed before running off to the kitchen, putting together a quick BLT, desperate to feed Dean something other than the hospital food he had quietly muttered about in the car.

In his room, Dean hung helplessly over the edge of the bed, eyes tired and listless. He perked up only a little bit when Castiel brought the food in. Unsure of how limited Dean's movement was, he carefully held the sandwich up to Dean's mouth. He had to swallow down the instinctive swoop of arousal at the sight of Dean's mouth closing around the sandwich as he took a bite.

Through the mouthful, Dean said, "thank you Cas. I... I didn't have anyone else to call. You... You're the only one who knows."

Looking down at the floor, he carefully replied, "why do you do it? Why won't you let me help you?"

Dean was silent for so long that Castiel was sure he'd just decided not to answer. So Dean's gruff voice startled him when he spoke again. "Do you want to know the truth?" Castiel nodded. "I... It's for my brother. So that he won't be in debt when he goes to school. I've added at least five grand to his college fund, not to mention the interest it’s collected. I can't...not. It's for him."

Castiel had to calm the Rage again within him before he let himself answer. "What would you do if he knew?"

"He can _never_ know, Cas, do you understand me?" Dean swallowed. "I'd do anything for him," he said quietly. "Anything at all."

Castiel couldn't bring himself to respond to the statement. He'd never felt that; a brother's unconditional love - there was only rivalry and hatred in his life, and then after he presented, disappointment. He longed desperately to feel that kind of love and dependency.

The only person who might even come remotely close to that for him was Gabriel, and even he said that he'd probably never jump in front of a train or take a bullet for him. It wasn't nearly as reassuring as he'd meant it to be.

Dean fell asleep, head lolled over the side of Castiel's bed, a pillow tucked under his head. Castiel knew he'd wake with one hell of a neck crick, so he was sure that when he set his alarm for four hours, that he had Dean's Vicodin nearby.

The four hours did not do anything to help him feel rested. He felt more disoriented than anything else. The sleepiness he felt was being to permeate all parts of his life. He was sluggish at the shop, driving, and now in aiding Dean.

The first time changing the bandages was the worst. He had been directed to rinse the wounds with cool running water, and so he soaked a towel in lukewarm water before squeezing it out over Dean's back.

His shout of pain was nearly enough to make Castiel change his mind about the endeavour. Bloody rivulets of water ran into the tub, staining the sides pink and brown. Eventually Dean’s shouts tapered off into little whimpers, tiny sounds of pain that he was barely holding onto.

When he got Dean back into bed, he scrubbed the inside of the tub vigorously before realizing he only had time for a short nap. He felt like he had just barely lain down when the alarm went off again.

The next two weeks were exactly the same. Marnie understood Castiel’s medical leave of absence, Bobby was skeptical of Dean’s but believed his flu story easily nonetheless. Castiel grew more and more weary with each day, walking sluggishly around the house, slowly putting together meals for himself for he and Dean. However, his appetite was slowly dwindling. He couldn’t tell if it was because of his lack of energy or if maybe he was falling ill. His only source of a good mood was seeing Dean’s back gradually heal up, wounds closing, scabbing, and then eventually scarring around the edges.

And then one day it hit him with a jolt - this was the illness that Missouri and Doctor Crowley had spoken to him about. It had been roughly six months since Castiel had realized Dean was his mate, six months since he’d freshly scented him.

That meant he had roughly six to eight months to live, the last of which would likely be spent in a hospital bed. With a sinking feeling, he realized that it was true; he would truly do anything to keep Dean safe.

Castiel scheduled an emergency appointment with Missouri, hurling himself into the chair across from her. She sat there calmly, patiently. Castiel blurted out, “I think I’m dying.”

Missouri only cocked her head, her hair falling to the side. “Of course you are sweetie,” she said flatly. Castiel gawked at her, sputtering, which devolved into a fit of coughs. “You knew this would happen. You’ve made your choice. Are you willing to change it?”

Castiel fell back, the cushion catching him. “I don’t think so.”

Missouri leaned forwards, clasping her hands in her lap. “Who are you seeking repentance from? You haven’t sinned, Castiel. You’ve done nothing but good. So who are you seeking forgiveness from? Certainly not Lucifer?”

Castiel bristled. “He should have gotten more jail time for what he did. That young boy should never have to worry about potentially seeing him ever again.”

He was calmly regarded, in a way that was making his skin begin to crawl in frustration. “So who are you to make up for the jail time he didn’t get?”

Castiel swallowed, sinking deeper into the chair.

He didn’t have an answer for her.

* * *

 [](http://tinypic.com?ref=33u3gis)

And then one day, Charlie burst into Marnie’s, a flurry of red hair and stuttering words. Castiel grasped her by the shoulders, modeling deep breaths and calming words. It took a few moments, but Charlie swallowed and finally said, “there’s something wrong with Dean.”

Castiel’s blood ran cold. Here it came; the part where he was blamed for Dean’s peculiar behavior. He’d known that Dean went back to his abuser - he could have guessed that much - but that didn’t mean it didn’t rile him up. Charlie’s eyes were wild with panic and discomfort. Dean was one of her closest friends, but her panic didn’t nearly rival Castiel’s fear and concern for his mate.

He finally sighed and dropped heavily onto the stool behind the counter. “He’s been - being - abused.”

Charlie’s jaw dropped open. “What the fuck,” she breathed. “Why haven’t you fucking done anything?!” her voice was raised, her scent shifting into something dangerous.

Castiel covered his face with his hands. “He was just hospitalized. I...I took care of him. He made me swear to never tell anyone, especially Sam. There’s...there’s nothing I can do. He’ll hate me for the rest of his life if I opened my mouth.”

“He could _die_!” Charlie shouted.

“He’s my _mate_!” Castiel roared.

The silence around them hung heavily in the air. “You’re not kidding,” she finally whispered.

Castiel scrubbed a palm across his face before dropping his head into his elbows. His words were muffled but Charlie was able to make out, “and I’m dying because of it.”

“H-have you tried to tell him? I don’t think he’d have gone to you for help, had he rejected you.”

Castiel shook his head, giving a weak laugh. “I’ve already rejected myself, there’s no need for him to do the rejecting.”

“You fuckwit, you haven’t even tried to tell him!” she sounded angry, which baffled Castiel. What did she care? He was her work neighbor who occasionally attended movie nights and pretended to ignore the fact that Dean was practically in his lap at the end of every night.

Castiel scratched at the back of his neck. “I don’t know what you want me to do,” he admitted. “I can’t tell him that he’s my mate. He’s not my property; I won’t make him feel like he is. He deserves to live the life that he wants to live.”

Charlie deflated. “And what if he wants to live his life with his mate?” she asked softly.

Castiel didn’t know how to answer that.

* * *

 

For the life of him, Dean couldn’t figure out why he went back to Azazel. Sam had grilled him for two weeks after his back finally healed, and Dean ended up telling him lie after lie.

“I was sick.”  
            “My friend was taking care of me.”

“I didn’t want you guys to get sick too.”

“Nah, he was a piss-smelling beta. Think he just made me sicker.”

Guilt twisted in his gut, and the sinking realization hit him that he’d never be able to go shirtless again. He’d lost weight during the healing process, too. His clothes hung off of him, lopsided and limp. Dean was sure his muscle would come back the moment he got under a car again, but his back was still ungodly sore and it took enough concentration to concentrate on his thoughts so that his scent didn’t shift to something fearful, or angry.

Castiel had noticed it about four days into his babysitting. He’d come in the room and then staggered backwards into the wall. “Dean?” he asked shakily. “Dean, what did I do?”

Dean had only looked at him blearily and then realized that he was profoundly angry, and that his scent was sharing that with the entire world - which was currently narrowed down to Castiel. It took some time, but Dean was able to soothe him and make sure he knew that, no, Castiel had not done a thing to piss him off. Eventually, Dean only let himself think about how grateful he was for Castiel, which allowed his scent to shift to something sweet.

Even though Castiel had gone out of his way to help Dean, missing work and staying with him nearly 24/7...Dean went back.

Twice a week, Azazel would run his fingers over Dean’s still healing scars and chuckle to himself, murmuring about how weak Dean was, how pathetic he was.

Not for the first time, Dean agreed with him.

It was another month and another two thousand dollars before he started fucking Dean. And it absolutely was fucking; not sex. Azazel would throw Dean to his stomach, grab his hips and enter roughly. There was always minimal preparation and he was always pissed that Dean was never slick enough.

Dean only agreed to it because he made Azazel swear not to knot him. He couldn’t stand the thought of being knotted to his asshole, his scent dark and dangerous, making Dean quiver in fear no matter how hard he tried not to. Not only that, but condoms tended to come off the moment a knot went down - Dean had learned that the hard way when he was eighteen, scrambling for Plan B even though the Alpha insisted Dean was alright because he was on birth control.

Dean didn’t want to fuck up and have it not be enough one day.

He never asked how Azazel got the kind of money he had. Sure, he was curious but he didn’t actually want to broach the subject. Ever. He was getting paid, Sammy’s first years tuition was slowly getting paid for. He was good.

Or, not so good.

Sam had even begun to notice. He asked Dean why he was sleeping so much. One day Bobby had cornered him in the garage. “Boy, have you been sleeping?”

Dean resisted the urge to scrub uselessly at his eyes. “Yeah,” he replied. “Why?”

Bobby squinted at him. “You look like you haven’t gotten a good night’s rest in weeks. Don’t you go into heat soon anyways?”

Dean flinched at that. “Shuddup. You know I do, and you know the week before is a slow burn in hell. Leave it be."

Bobby crossed his arms. "Don't take that tone with me. Go home- _now_ -and I'll tell Ellen to make you some chicken tomato soup. You've been running on empty for a while now; it don't take a genius to see that."

Bobby's observation cut Dean to his core. He was right, of course. Going back to Azazel after having been "sick" was one of his worst decisions.

At home that night, Dean laid in his bed, struggling to focus on the auto magazine in hand. He childhood keep his mind from drifting back to Castiel. He was heavy with guilt at having gone back to Azazel when Castiel had done so much to ensure his healing.

His scent wasn't half bad either. If Dean were honest with himself, it was one of the best he'd ever smelled. It was heady and homey and safe-smelling.

Like a punch to the gut, it hit him hard and fast. Castiel was familiar in a way that didn't make sense to him. It made his stomach churn with desire that wasn't purely sexual. He was soothing and kind and was genuinely interested in Dean and who he was as a person. He made Dean feel like he mattered.

He was the one that Dean scented in high school, the one that triggered his first heat.

He was Dean's mate.


	4. Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a break in this chapter to indicate a graphic rape scene. It is separated by a row of asterisks both before and after the scene for those who would like to skip that part but read the chapter.

            Castiel was at work when he noticed it. Over the course of the month, Dean was gradually inching himself ever further into Castiel's life. It started with Dean coming over to Comic Kamikaze and then swinging by Marnie's. He'd sit on the step stool and talk at Castiel about anything and everything.

            He learned how long Dean and Jo had been friends (since he was seven and his parents introduced Sam and Dean to Bobby and Ellen). He learned that Sam Winchester had broken his arm as a child, jumping off the roof and that Bobby had flat out laughed at the boys, picking them up from the hospital. He learned that Dean and Sam's parents had died in a car accident when they were only adolescents, that Bobby and Ellen were all they had growing up. He learned that Dean's favorite color was green, because it reminded him of the saltwater taffy his mom had bought him once at a fair.

            It was overwhelming and Castiel loved every minute of it. He couldn't for the life of him figure out Dean's spontaneous candor, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

            For every bit of information that Dean gave him, Castiel rewarded him with something from his own life. He told him about his brothers, their antics growing up. He talked about Gabriel at length, at one point having to explain to Dean that no, Gabriel was not his brother. He was the drunk cousin at family reunions, wreaking havoc with every breath. He confessed Lucifer’s actions—how it demolished him and his opinion of being an Alpha.

            It was relieving, learning that Dean was so much more than a victim. He was a man so full of love that it was practically bursting forth from him. He still held his head high, despite the abuse he was (is?) sustaining. Dean's smile was enough to make Castiel's insides clench, his own smile threatening to overtake him at just the sheer joy of seeing his mate smiling.

            Dean became a frequent fixture at Marnie's. He would see Charlie and then come over to see Castiel and talk his ear off about something or another for an hour.

            Charlie even noticed Dean's sudden socializing. She came over to Marnie's as Castiel was closing up.

                        "I think Dean is doing better," she said. "It's been a long time since he's been this happy."

            Castiel swallowed. "I think he's still seeing them though. He may not hold himself like a victim but he still has the tells of one."

            Charlie narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"

            "He only sits in the back of the store. He walks in and then plants himself so he can see everything that is going on. If you come up behind him, he startles easily. His whole body tenses up, as if he's waiting to get hit. He actually accidentally broke a planter last week... Charlie you should have seen the way he apologized to me, the panic in his eyes. You'd have thought he'd run over someone's puppy."

            Charlie made a face. "I wish we could help him."

            Castiel agreed, however, "short of stalking him, there's really nothing we can do except make sure he knows we're here for him."

            Castiel now had five months on the clock of his life. He was struggling through the days, trying to stay awake, forcing himself to eat in small increments even though he had no appetite to speak of. He was passing up Charlie's movie nights in favor of getting twelve hours of sleep just so that he could function through the next day.

            Charlie was the only one who knew he was dying. Every week she'd ask him, "did you tell him yet?" and Castiel would shake his head, shifting his eyes elsewhere so that he didn't have to see the sadness in her eyes.

            Missouri was getting harsher with him too. Every week she'd urge him to delve deeper into the incident with Lucifer. Every week he struggled to talk about it, but he was gradually making progress. He recounted his vivid recollection of the police officers pounding on the door, barging right past his mother to cuff Lucifer and read him the Miranda rights. He remembered the look of cool satisfaction on Lucifer's face, as though he'd planned this. He remembered their mother laying on the floor sobbing as their father stood over her, doing nothing to help his grieving wife.

When the session ended, Missouri looked at him sadly and said the same thing she'd been saying for months now. "It's not your fault. You can't control what other people do, but you can control what you do."

            Castel wished those two sentences did more for him.

Gabriel had even stopped coming around so often. The last time he'd seen Castiel, his face held so much fear that Castiel felt as though he were a monster now. Gabriel was scared for him and expressed that fear by ordering Castiel a hulking burger when they went out to eat and urging him to finish it. He pleaded with Castiel to tell Dean, to at least put the idea out there.

            "You're not a bad alpha, Cas. If you'd just let yourself you'd make that guy so happy. I can see you waking up early to make him pancakes, and going on long car rides through the hills and preparing picnics to surprise him with....you're a good alpha. I wish you'd see that."

            That was two months ago. Gabriel admitted, "I can't keep coming to see you if you're intent on killing yourself. I want to remember you as healthy and thriving, not in a hospital bed."

            He wished he could get the courage to tell Dean. He wished that he could get over his fears to tell Dean.

            And then one day, Missouri presented him with an ultimatum.

            "You know, I could have you institutionalized."

            Castiel gawked at her. "Excuse me?" he blurted.

            Missouri looked at him coolly. "You're technically expressing suicidal ideation."

            "The hell I am!"

            “You won’t do the one thing that will save your life. You’re doing quite the opposite.”

            Castiel clenched his fists at his sides. “You wouldn’t.”

            Missouri raised a challenging eyebrow. “I wouldn’t?”

            Castiel’s jaw was locked. His eyes were a harsh blue, full of lightning and a dare. He held eye contact with Missouri for one beat, two. Missouri remained unfazed and then he realized that she was being serious. All she had to do was make a phone call and his rights would be signed over to an Alpha-only Crazy Hospital for the last handful of months of his life.

            “What do you want me to do,” he sighed.

            Missouri met his question with a cool smile.

* * *

 [](http://tinypic.com?ref=33u3gis)

            It’d been three days since his last therapy session. His limbs ached and he struggled through work. He loved his flowers, but his mind was so listless that he often found himself forgetting to water a whole planter, or to trim the roses on the countertop.

            He was also panicking profusely. Missouri gave him specific instructions as well as a threat he knew she’d make good on. He wasn’t sure what panicked him more; the instructions he’d been given or the fact that he’d been given the ultimatum of a lifetime - quite literally, considering his was growing shorter by the day.

            Three days since therapy and the opportunity presented itself on a silver platter, garnish and all.

            It was five minutes until closing. Castiel had just finished sweeping and mopping the floors. He counted the cash register and had the day's profits sealed in the plastic bag, on its way to the safe. The bell over the door chimed and Castiel had to hold back a sigh - that is, until the muted scent hit him. His body tried to send warmth everywhere, but he was exhausted - his heart skipped a beat, however. Dean was here.

            After having locked the safe again, Castiel turned to see Dean sitting on the stool, his head in his hands and an almost content smile on his face. He met Castiel’s eyes and Castiel couldn’t help but noticed the flush of blood up his neck and his ears.

            “Sup Cas?”

            Castiel swallowed. “Hello, Dean. What brings you here today?”

            Dean shrugged. “Wanted a milkshake. Wanna come with?”

            Castiel smiled at him and sat down at the other stool. “Can I...Can I talk to you first, Dean?”

            Castiel watched Dean shift, his guard drawing up. He leaned backwards and put his hands in his lap. “Sure Cas, what’s up?”

            He sighed, wiping his clammy hands on his pants. “Um. I need you to know that this doesn’t have to change our friendship, not unless you want it to, of course. But, um. So. You remember the first time I brought my car to you?”

            Dean laughed nervously. “Yeah...I do. You were a little weird.”

            Castiel met his eyes, piercing blue in emerald green. “That’s because I realized you’re my mate. And...and I got scared. And I’m telling you this now, because if I don’t my therapist will lock me up for suicidal ideation and I’ll spend my last days in a hospital, which I don’t want to do but please don’t feel like you _have_ to mate me; you’re still your own person and I never want you to feel obligated to me and I just -”

            Dean put his hand over Castiel’s mouth. Under his nose, Castiel could smell Dean’s scent even better - petrichor, mostly—like Alfie’s but much more potent and it had more of an effect on him. It made his mouth water more than anything.

            Dean didn’t smile at first. “Jesus Cas, one thing at a time! What the fuck do you mean suicidal ideation? Hospital? Start with that, please.”

            Castiel bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m dying,” he murmured. “Because I didn’t mate with you right away, my body is...falling apart. I’ve got about another five months left to live. I was so scared to tell you. I hate how people think that Omegas aren’t their own person once they get an Alpha, that their Alpha has ownership over them. I don’t - I’m not - I couldn’t do that to you.”

            Dean smiled sadly, his hand coming up to rest in the curve of Castiel’s neck and shoulder. “I know,” he said softly. “I’ve known for a couple weeks now. I didn’t say anything because...I’m a horrible Omega to have. I didn’t want to do that to you.”

            Castiel’s heart dropped. He lifted his hand to reach for Dean and then dropped it back in his lap. “Don’t...don’t say that. You are wonderful and kind and thoughtful and generous and talented and -”

            Dean’s hand covered his mouth again. This time he was laughing. “Stop, stop, I get it!” His eyes were sad though, as he continued. “I just don’t think I’d be a good Omega. I mean...I sell myself to pay for my brother’s college, which, by the way, he starts next month. I’m argumentative and I put too much seasoning in my food because my fucking blockers dim _everything_. Sammy was and will always be my top priority and no Alpha wants to hear that-”

            This time, Castiel put a finger to Dean’s mouth. His words trailed off, half-finished and his mouth was slightly open from the way Castiel’s finger was pressing at his lips. Castiel had to swallow the flood of desire that grew at the sight of Dean, not intending to look seductive, but looking it anyways.

            “Do you want to try it? I can take you on a date or two, or we could spend some time together. You call the shots, though. I never want you to feel that I want to control you. We don’t have to mate, I swear to you.”

            Dean smiled a little bit. “I’m willing to try it. But...right now I just want to go home. Is that okay?”

            Castiel scrambled backwards, nearly tucking himself off of the stool. “Of course! You - you go do what you need to. I’m just glad we were honest together. A-and I’m tired. I’m going to go home and have dinner. I’ll go to bed early.” The dinner part was a lie; he was definitely going home to crawl into bed.

            Dean left and drove carefully back home. Ellen was cooking dinner while Bobby was reading the paper in front of the TV. The house was quiet save for the pots and pans clanking in the kitchen and Bobby’s classic rock playing from the radio. He could smell the roast that Ellen was making, and underneath that, the scent of _home_.

            He trudged upstairs, foregoing saying hello, instead opting to go straight to his room and sleep until dinner was ready. However, he walked past Sam’s room though and the big Alpha stepped out of his room to yank Dean in.

            “Dean!” he said excitedly. “Help me; I don’t know where to start.”

            Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow as he surveyed Sam’s room. There were a few Tupperware crates in his room. One had a small stack of books in it, the other had notebooks and a small pencil case. Sam’s room, which was under any other circumstances, hospital clean - was a wreck today. Clothes were strewn across the floor; his desk was covered in orientation papers. His plane tickets to Los Angeles were pinned to his corkboard, the only thing that looked even remotely in place in the room.

            Dean clapped him on the back. “Sammy, relax. You’ve still got a month. Give it another two weeks before you start panicking. For now, get your dirty boxers in the hamper and maybe, I dunno, re-alphabetize your bookshelf.”

            Sam ran his hands through his too long hair. He had shot up in the tenth grade, flying past Dean’s height in the span of a year. With his growth spurt, his hair went crazy too - and he refused to cut it. He was always running his hands through it, brushing it from his face. When Dean really wanted to piss him off, he’d threaten to come into his room and chop it off in the middle of the night.

            “Dean it’s not funny! Jess already has all of her books organized and -” Sam paused, sniffing the air. “Dude what’s your damage right now?”

            Dean bit the inside of his cheek. “What are you talking about?” he said airily, looking at the wall over Sam’s head.

            Sam walked over and cuffed Dean on the side of his head. “ _What am I talking about_ \- you, you asshole! You smell all...happy and annoyed at the same time. You’re the only person I know who can have those at the same time.”

            “Oh, fuck you,” Dean snarked.

            “Are you going to tell me?”

            Dean figured he’d bite the bullet, get it out of the way and be done with it. “So. I found out I have a mate. And I found out today that he’s dying.”

            Sam’s jaw dropped open. “What the fuck,” he breathed. “Is it - is it cancer? Or?”

            Dean scratched his jaw. “Uh, no. You know that thing that they talk about with Alphas? Like, if they scent their mate and don’t actually, ya know, bite ‘em?”

            “Holy shit.” Sam was gawking at him. “Why - how...why didn’t you guys just mate?!”

            “Uhh...I think he’s a little scared, to be honest. He’s known for like six or seven months now, but didn’t want me to think it’d take away my freedom or personhood or whatever.”

            Sam was glaring at him now. “That means he has like, five months to live! What the fuck are you doing, Dean? Go find that guy, let him put his teeth in you and _save his fucking life_!”

            Dean felt the first tendrils of anger wrap around him. “Sam you don’t know anything! Hell, I barely know anything about the guy. Sorry I want to get to know him before doing the dirty!”

            Sam’s glare got heavier, if possible. “It’s never stopped you before,” he said harshly.

            Dean’s back straightened. “You know what, Sam? _Fuck you_.”

            With that, he left Sam’s room, went into his own and slammed the door behind him. He didn’t come out when Ellen called him for dinner. He didn’t come out when Bobby said there was a plate for him. He didn’t come out when Sam timidly knocked on his door. He went downstairs at one am, when he was sure everyone is in bed, and ate his cold dinner on the floor of the kitchen.

* * *

 

            Dean saw Castiel the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. He sat in Marnie’s while Castiel tended to the plants, talking about anything, listening to Castiel and his own stories. They went and got the milkshakes they’d talked about. Dean brought him to the Roadhouse and hid in the back where Jo didn’t have any tables and Ellen wouldn’t see them. He didn’t want to get grilled. He was enjoying getting to know Castiel better, but something told him that the other man wasn’t normally so pallid, and could probably tear through a burger under any other circumstances. He tried not to let the thought that Castiel was dying permeate his mind too much, but it was ever-present, making itself known at the most inopportune times.

            And then his little bubble of joy and carefreeness was popped. Azazel texted him.

            _Hilton, 220, $2000, 10pm._

Hotel, room number, payment, time.

            He loathed getting those texts. Without fail, he’d drop everything, because that money was important, and he needed it to get Sam through law school. Even though Sam was nosy and demanding and endlessly frustrating, he was still Dean’s little brother and that meant that Dean had to take care of him.

            Even though it made him a bad Omega.

***************************************************************** **_TW_**

            He knocked three times at Azazel’s door, as he was taught to at the beginning. The door was pulled open quickly, as though he were waiting on the other side for Dean. It wasn’t unusual, it just didn’t happen very frequently.

            Dean was pulled into the room and Azazel’s low voice commanded him, “strip.”

            He had long since given up on making it look sexy. Azazel had told him it wasn’t enticing at all and that it distracted from the “main event”, so Dean just came in and stripped his clothes off methodically, draping them over the nearest piece of furniture. He turned to face Azazel and was caught off guard.

            He was used to being handled roughly. Hell, it was part of the game; he’d learned quickly enough. But tonight was different. Azazel was calculated, less lust-fueled and more determination. Dean had never seen this before. It was uncharted territory but before he could further think about it, Azazel jammed a palm under his neck and threw him to the bed. The mattress squeaked in protest at Dean’s sudden weight.

            The first fingers of fear were creeping up Dean’s spine, tensing him up. “Azazel, what -”

            The slap caught him even further off guard. His arm buckled, and he fell to the bed. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to speak until spoken to?” Azazel snarled.

            Before Dean could get ahold of his surroundings, ahold of what was happening, Azazel entered him in a swift, harsh thrust. Dean cried out and got a fist to the jaw for it.

            He blacked out.

            His brain shut down, his body went limp. He was sure he was just a ragdoll at this point, but it didn’t matter. Azazel was getting what he wants - like always.

            But then, he felt the swelling of a knot. He began to press down, away from Azazel, forgetting when he’d ended up on his stomach. His fingered scrabbled at the sheets, bunching them under his forearms. No matter how hard he tried though, he couldn’t get away.

            Azazel’s knot tied them together.

            With that, he began to cry, sobbing in earnest. He was broken now. Completely shattered. He couldn’t come back from this, he was never going to come back from this, he could never -

            His sobbing turned into a scream of agony as Azazel pulled out of him, knot still hard and heavy. “Shut the fuck up,” he heard from behind him. There was a soft thud on the bed and then a zipper, and then the slam of a door.

            Dean wasn’t sure how long he laid on the bed sobbing, crying himself dry. At some point though, he vaguely recalled yelling for help until his throat was raw. He couldn’t move; he could feel blood trickling down his legs. He wasn’t even sure if Azazel used a condom and his shouts grew more panicked.

            Eventually, he resigned himself to the fact that he might die here, on this once-pristine hotel bed, torn in half and covered in blood and tears. At one point, he drifted.

            There were red and blue lights.

            Someone shined a flashlight in his eyes.

            Dean thought he pawed at them, but he couldn’t be sure.

            There were needles and being wiped down and more crying.

            He was broken, wasn’t he?

**************************** **_TW over_**

* * *

 [](http://tinypic.com?ref=33u3gis)

            It was only the second time but Castiel was well and truly sick of receiving phone calls from the hospital. He could hear the words ringing in his head.

            _Hello? We found you as Dean Winchester’s emergency contact. He’s here at Lawrence Memorial and is in critical condition. Would you -_

He couldn’t help himself - he rallied the brigade. With shaking fingers he called both Charlie and Alfie, begging for a ride to the hospital, seeing that he could barely see straight, he was so worried.

            Charlie called Jo, who called Ellen, who dragged Bobby, who snagged Sam from work.

            Castiel could only pray that Dean wouldn’t wake up furious with him - his secret was out now.

            The sight of Dean, his mate, tangled up in IV’s and wrapped up in bandages nearly made Castiel vomit his heart up. There was a fist shaped bruise at his chin. His eyes were closed but his face was scrunched up as though he could feel the pain he looked in, even in sleep.

            To say the least, Ellen was fretting. She was leaning heavily on Bobby, her eyes brimmed with tears. She didn’t seem the kind of woman to sob, but Castiel knew that she wanted to. Sam sat in one of the plastic chairs, long legs curled into himself, his head resting on his knees. Charlie was pacing, practically biting her fingernails off. Jo and Alfie were sitting together. Alfie looked as though he was trying to comfort Jo, his gangly arms wrapped around her, stroking fingers through her blonde hair.

            No one asked Castiel how he knew Dean, or why he was Dean’s emergency contact.

            Dean was none too happy when he woke to Ellen’s perplexed face. He was expecting anger, disapproval, shame. Instead, he got an armful of the woman who raised him, her tears warm on his neck. He could only lift his arms to hug her back, his whole body aching.

            However, the moment the nurses realized that Dean was awake, a police officer stepped silently into the room. She said nothing, only stood in the room with her hands crossed in front of her waist. Gradually, everyone realized that she was waiting, and filtered out of the room. Only Castiel remained, sitting protectively in the seat next to the bed. She looked at him expectantly.

            “I’m his mate,” he said, a slight snarl in his voice.

            She only nodded in understanding and turned to look at Dean who was sitting slightly straighter, but his face was still contorted in barely-masked pain. “I’m detective Jody Mills. I’ve been assigned to your case. Would you like to tell me what happened?”

            Dean raised his chin. “What about my Miranda rights?”

            She huffed slightly, barely concealed laughter. “Mr. Winchester, you are not being arrested. Considering you were found with your...passage torn,” she put it as gently as possible. “multiple wounds and a cracked jaw, you’re absolutely not the one getting arrested.”

            Dean couldn’t meet her eyes.

            “It was just an Alpha who couldn’t take no for an answer,” he mumbled. “That’s it.”

            “Would this Alpha be the same that dropped two-thousand dollars in cash on the bed we found you on?” she pulled out an evidence bag from her coat pocket. Inside was a wad of hundred dollar bills.

            Dean swallowed nervously. He couldn’t find any words of explanation that could possibly fit inside of his mouth.

            Castiel cleared his throat. “Will Dean be needing a lawyer?” His voice was level, but Dean could at least smell the scent of quiet frustration rolling off of him.

            Jody snorted. “Hell no, he won’t. I just have a couple of questions for Mr. Winchester and then I’ll be on my way.”

            “And what if Dean’s answers change the nature of this investigation? I’ll have you understand that I will not allow my mate to be put in danger; he’s had a hard enough time as it is.” It caused Castiel physical pain to play the part of a posturing Alpha when all he wanted to do was beg the detective not to arrest Dean, whatever his story was. He wanted to protect Dean, and this seemed to be the safest way.

            Again, Dean defiantly raised his chin. “Guy was a dick. Guess he felt the need to make up for it. My win...or something.”

            Jody bit the inside of her lip. She didn’t want to open up an investigation. The last thing she wanted was to put this young man in harm’s way anymore than he clearly already had been. The money was shady, but they had no other evidence that he was a prostitute, and there was nothing to encourage the department to open an investigation.

            She sighed. “Very well then. Let the hospital take care of you, alright young man? I’ll make sure no other officers come bother you; you deserve some rest after what you’ve been through.”

            She left the room and Dean turned to look at Castiel, who was starting at him. Castiel could feel tears beginning in the corners of his eyes. “I wish I could have done something,” he murmured, sniffing slightly.

            Dean’s face fell. “Hey, hey c’mere. Shh, I’m okay Cas, I’m okay.”

            Castiel’s face twisted. “No you’re not! You - he, you’re -”

            Dean sniffed lightly, feeling his own tears coming forward. “Hey, don’t hurt yourself,” he said with a watery chuckle. “Can you just…” he held out his hand. One breath, two, and Castiel tentatively wrapped his own hand around Dean’s. Dean’s hand was shaking, breaking the strong facade he had. Castiel didn’t care.

            He just wanted to hold his mate, but he couldn’t. He didn’t even dare jostle Dean, not when the doctors said he’d be in the hospital on the morphine drip for a good stretch of time until the worse of the healing process was over.

            When the medication made Dean’s eyes begin to droop, Castiel kissed his palm and then went to join his family in the hallway.

            This time, though, Ellen was prepared. “Who are you to my boy?” She swooped in on him the second he shut the door behind him.

            “I’m his mate,” Castiel blurted. _Shit_. Why is that getting easier to say?

            Ellen sniffed at him. “You don’t smell mated. You smell...muted. What drugs are you on, boy?”

            Castiel ran a hand through his hand. “It’s...kind of a long story.” He glanced up, hoping to find Alfie looking for Castiel, looking for a way to get away from so many people, but instead...Alfie was sitting with Jo, comforting her and lightly patting her hand. He looked awkward and out of place, but then again, that was his default.

            Castiel pulled Ellen down in the seat next to him and began to tell his story.

* * *

 

            It took Dean a month to be able to move without feeling a twinge of pain around his ass. The doctors had been concerned that he wouldn’t be able to produce slick anymore, but a few minutes browsing on the Internet proved that one wrong.

            Castiel had insisted on coming over to his house every day after work. He sat with Dean trying to learn as much about him as possible. He would help Dean down the stairs and watch cartoons while Ellen made them lunch and dinner.

            And then at one point, Sam cornered Dean right before he went to bed. “Have you even _seen_ Castiel?” he hissed. “He’s falling apart. He barely touched Ellen’s fried chicken and you _know_ what her chicken does to people. His clothes are falling off of him, he coughs in between every word and you can practically see his veins.”

            “Is that my fault?” Dean snarled. “ _He’s_ the one who won’t mate me.”

            “He’s fucking terrified!” Sam cried. “Reassure him. You guys don’t have to do any extracurriculars but just save his goddamn life, Dean!”

            Not for the first time, Dean wanted to punch his little brother in the face for being right. He couldn’t though, not when Sam was leaving in three days’ time to move a world away to Stanford. He couldn’t even bring himself to really be angry, considering he likely wouldn’t see Sam again until Thanksgiving, or even maybe Christmastime.

            When Castiel came over the next day, Dean’s family gave them a wide berth. Sam yelled something about going to Jess’ for dinner. Bobby and Ellen claimed it was a date night, even though it had been years since they’d had anything beyond a night of TV dinners and a movie as a “date”.

            Castiel glanced around the living room. The house was quiet. Birds were chirping merrily outside, and Dean had a weird classic rock mix playing that Sam had made him when he was twelve.

            “Why do I get the feeling that your family wanted us to be alone for some reason?”

            Dean put his face in his hands and peeked between his fingers at Castiel. “‘ey w..nt to...ma.”

            Castiel raised an amused eyebrow. “Come again?” he asked.

            “They want us to mate!” Dean all but shouted.

            Castiel stiffened immediately. A shadow passed over his eyes and his breath left him in a gust. “Dean, I...not after - I couldn’t.”

            “Jesus Christ, they’re not talking about doing the do. The doctor hasn’t cleared me for that for another six months. Not to mention, I don’t think I want to have sex for the next millennium. They’re talking about biting. I can’t...Cas I can’t let you die. Not after you’ve done so much for me.”

            Castiel swallowed apprehensively. “Dean...we haven’t even _kissed_. And I - I’m a wreck. I’ve never even been able to be with someone. It hurt me so much having to pretend that I had control over your actions at the hospital. I can’t - I’d make a terrible Alpha. Don’t you see that?”

            Dean rolled his eyes. “And I will probably have PTSD for the rest of my life. We’re a perfect fit.”

            Sadness settled across Castiel’s face. He opened his mouth to say something, but then Dean lunged forwards, their lips meeting. Without even meaning to, Castiel sighed into the kiss. Dean took Castiel’s face in his hand, caressing a gentle thumb over his cheekbone and he coaxed his mouth open, their breath mingling, their scent twisting and filling the air into something new entirely. Castiel almost forgot to breathe for a moment, his breath catching in his throat, his brain short-circuiting. Joy filled Dean, an unbridled moment of success as he kissed the shock out of Castiel’s mouth.

            After a minute of kissing lazily, Dean pulled away and whispered, “there. We’ve kissed. Now get on with it.”

            Castiel pulled away, meeting Dean’s eyes as he caressed a gentle hand over the tendon that joined Dean’s neck and shoulder, the supple skin in the surrounding areas. He dropped a gentle kiss to Dean’s jaw, the same place that Azazel had cracked it with a well-placed fist.

            “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and-

            And then Dean smacked him. “You’d better say something more romantic than that shit right before you bite me otherwise I’ll whoop your stupid Alpha ass.” The statement was flat and fierce all the same.

            Castiel snorted, kissed Dean again and said, “I hope this is the only way I’ll ever hurt you.”

            He closed his mouth around Dean’s skin, biting down, trying not to revel in the gasp that Dean let out, the little squeak of pain that made his stomach turn over. The iron tang of blood filled his mouth, and he lapped at the fresh wound, trying not to be sick at the taste of blood, trying to heal his mate -

            His mate.

            Oh God Dean was actually his mate now.

            Warmth filled Castiel’s body, from the toes up, running through his veins, taking his breath away. His eyes closed tightly, his body shivering from the onslaught of sensations, he tried to make sense on what was happening. Of all the research he’d poured through about being an Alpha, about Alpha sickness - he’d never read up on what was to happen once he mated.

            It had started slowly, but now it felt like he was on fire, flames licking up his bones, through his tendons. He pulled away from Dean, fists clenching, jaw locked as heat clawed through his body.

            When he could finally open his eyes, Dean was practically in his lap, holding Castiel’s face between his hands. “Whoa, hey - Cas, look at me man, open your eyes! Oh - holy shit.” Castiel’s eyes were glowing bright Alpha red. With a gasp, the red bled into blue and Castiel was blinking back tears.

            “What the fuck was that?” he managed.

            Dean shrugged. “Your bet is as good as mine. Freaky; that’s what that was. How you feeling champ?”

            Castiel blinked, taking inventory of himself. “Hungry,” he declared. He met Dean’s eyes. “Do you want to go get something?”

            At the question, Dean paled and moved away from Castiel. “I, uh - I’d rather...not.”

            “...could I ask why?”

            Dean sighed, staring at his hands. “I haven’t really...been out, since...you know. I’m just. I ‘unno. It probably seems stupid.”

            Castiel rested a gentle hand across Dean’s knee. “You don’t need to explain yourself if you don’t want to. Would you prefer ordering a pizza?”

            Dean grinned at him. “Meat lovers?”

            Castiel laughed a little bit. “Whatever you want.”

* * *

 [](http://tinypic.com?ref=33u3gis)

            To say the least, Missouri was overjoyed at the fact that they had mated. Crowley was more than happy to take Castiel off of his inhibitors. He was run through a physical exam, blood work and swabs to ensure that his body was no longer sabotaging against himself anymore. Castiel could scent things normally, he was gaining weight and his skin no longer looked sallow and pale.

            He was alive.

            And Dean was alive as well.

            It was a fact that Dean struggled with every day since he got out of the hospital. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he ought to be dead, that he should have gotten left there in the hotel, everything else be damned. The doctors at the hospital tried to get him to take the number of their psychiatrist but Dean nearly flipped a table after the fourth nurse approached him with a card and then they all left him alone until he was discharged.

            Castiel had asked a couple of the times since he bit Dean for him to join a therapy session or two. “Just to meet her,” he explained. He reassured Dean over and over again that it wasn’t to force him into seeing a therapist; it was just trying to share his mate with the world.

            Dean vehemently shot that notion down.

            Their first few days of being mated were golden. Dean proudly flaunted his mark to his family and reveled in his ability to shove his face into Castiel’s neck and scent him, blockers be damned. That way the world would know that Castiel was his and there was nothing they could do about it.

            (Castiel thought he could grow to love Dean’s streak of possessiveness)

            Castiel enjoyed coming over to Dean’s after work and sitting on the couch with him, being educated on classic cult movies and the proper way to butter popcorn (“layers, Cas. It’s all about the layers”)

            And then the flashbacks started.

            They were laying together on the couch, Dean tucked into Castiel’s side, his arm hanging off of the edge of the couch. Castiel was crammed between Dean and the cushion, his left arm falling asleep, but he could smell Dean’s contentment and hear his short breaths, so he was fine.

            In an instant though, Dean’s scent drastically changed. No longer was he calm and peaceful, he was on edge and he was _terrified_. He flung himself off of the couch, out of Castiel’s grasp. His leap shattered the coffee table as he scrambled backwards, his arms over his head as he curled up.

            It took every ounce of strength not to yell, not to follow his instinctual urge to go after Dean, to call out or grab him. His body ached, seeing his Omega hurting himself like this, and realizing there was nothing he could possibly do to fix it or stop it or change it. Flashbacks had to be ridden out on their own.

            All he could do was kneel in front of Dean across from the mess and try to coax him out of it.

            “Dean...Dean, come back. Come back to me. I’m right here.”

            And when that didn’t work, when Dean was still trembling furiously and the cuts on his feet were beginning to cease bleeding, Castiel tried a different tactic.

            “The-there was this one time, Gabriel came to visit. H-he and I always got into trouble. I was so easily molded as a child; I picked up on any influence I experienced. And - And this one time, he convinced me to come out to the woods with him. Naturally, I did what my parents always told me to do - I covered myself in bug spray beforehand. He took us stomping for what felt like miles. And then, on the way back, he goes ‘Cassie, look over there!’ and tripped me. I landed face first in a bush of poison ivy. All over my hands and my face. My parents were furious and Gabriel’s parents tried to scold him, but they ended up laughing at me instead.”

            There was a soft sniffle from Dean. Castiel looked up and saw Dean staring at him, tear tracks across his cheeks. “You were a gullible kid,” he sniffed.

            Castiel smiled softly. “I absolutely was.” He paused. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

            Neither of them talked about what had just happened. Dean allowed Castiel to pick him up, to struggle up the stairs to the bathroom and to be set down on the edge of the toilet. He let Castiel wash off his feet and wrap them in gauze. He struggled to walk back down the stairs on his own, and then promptly passed out on the couch almost as soon as Castiel laid him back down.

            Dean was doing a lot of sleeping lately. Castiel could only imagine what the trauma took out of him, and he wished, nearly violently, that there was more he could do for his mate. Missouri told him to give Dean time, that an assault took a lot of time to work through and come to terms with, that Dean would sort it out.

            But it didn’t seem like that’s what Dean was doing.

            Castiel came over one morning before work with a slice of pie and a cup of coffee, intending on giving them to Dean with a good morning kiss. His nerves were frayed; he’d yet to do anything like this before. Bobby and Ellen more than willing to let Castiel surprise Dean in the morning, so long as it made him happy.

            So Castiel snuck up the stairs, having long since learned the squeaky steps and the right path to make it up quietly. He knocked gently on the door before pushing it open. “Dean?” he called in a hushed voice. “Dean, it’s Cas.” he set the food on the bedside table, pushing aside an old magazine and a box of M&M’s.

            He reached a gentle hand over, laying it across Dean’s shoulder -

            And Dean jolted, body tensing and flinching away. He hit his head on the wall and cried out. Castiel barely moved the breakfast over before Dean’s foot shot out and knocked the rest of the items off the table.

            “Jesus, Cas what are you doing here? It’s eight in the morning.”

            So Dean wasn’t happy to see him. He tried to stamp down the flood of disappointment that roared up inside of him. So much for being a good Alpha.

            “I brought you breakfast,” he said softly. “I guess I’ll just leave it here, I didn’t know you didn’t want me here so early.”

            As he turned around to leave the room, Dean reached forward and grabbed his wrist. “Aw, Cas...I didn’t mean it like that. You just startled me real bad. Do you have time to sit with me before work?”

            Castiel blinked. Dean’s reactions were giving him whiplash. He nodded slightly, and sat at the foot of the bed as Dean grabbed the pie off of the side table. He surveyed the mess he made for a moment before taking a large bite.

            “Awh, man you are the _best_ Alpha ever!” he exclaimed. Castiel tried hard not to preen but pride surged through his system and Dean laughed when his scent changed. “Yeah, yeah, rock on.”

            Castiel knew he’d be late, but these few moments he could spend with Dean made his day that much better. He knew he’d go to work with a bounce in his step; he got to see his mate before work, and with any luck, he’d see him again at the end of the day. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he finally said.

            Dean shrugged, taking a large swallow of coffee. “You’re okay. I just...I haven’t been sleeping well since, you know? Ellen keeps pushing me to get some kind of sleep aid, but that doesn’t seem to be my style.”

            Castiel bit his lip. “Well. I’m sure Missouri would be more than happy to give you a referral -”

            Dean sighed, setting his fork back down. “Dude, stop. I’m not going to go and listen to some psychobabble about how I need to “move forward from my trauma” or other bullshit. I’m _fine_.”

            “Dean you just almost punched me in the face for bringing you breakfast.”

            “Well, I didn’t know it was you!”

            “Exactly. Who else could it have been.”

            Dean’s mouth shut with a click. “Shuddup,” he muttered.

            They sat in silence together while Dean finished his breakfast. When he put the plate down, Castiel glanced at his watch and then back at Dean. “Can I kiss you?” he blurted.

            Dean blinked at him. “Um. I mean. You’re my mate, so…”

            “No,” Castiel stopped him almost harshly. “Don’t ever assume that I will do something solely because I am your mate. I am asking to kiss you because I would like to kiss you. Would you like me to?”

            Dean swallowed his words and nodded.

            Castiel carefully took Dean’s face between his hands and leaned forward. Their lips met in a gentle kiss, just a small press. Dean smelled of coffee and contentment, his lips sweet with the flavored creamer Castiel had bought. Dean brought a hand to the back of Castiel’s neck, tilting his head and deepening the kiss with a slight flick of his tongue.

            Castiel sighed and Dean’s tongue met his and the air around them changed from relaxed and sleepy to something much more charged. Dean’s hand slid over Castiel’s shoulders toying with the hems of his sleeves.

            It was Castiel who pulled away first. The first twinge of lust caught him off guard and he barely managed to break the kiss gently, with a soft kiss pressed to Dean’s cheeks, and his nose. He knew Dean wasn’t ready for anything more; he wasn’t even sure if _he_ was ready for anything more. He just knew he couldn’t let it get any further.

            He rested his head against Dean’s, staring into his eyes. “You’re going to make me late for work,” he murmured.

            Dean smirked. “You’re the one who asked to kiss me. That’s so your fault.”

            “I’ll own it.”

* * *

 

            It had been two months since everything had happened. A month and three weeks since Sam had left. It had been two weeks since Dean’s last doctor’s appointment. Barely a day had gone by without someone asking him if he’d seen a therapist yet. Even Sam’s phone calls included the question until Dean hung up on him one night.

            And then one day, Ellen cornered Dean. He was in the kitchen making a grilled cheese, humming along to the commercial jingle playing in the other room. He turned around and almost dropped the spatula, yelping when he nearly ran into Ellen. She stood stiffly, arms crossed in front of her.

            “Dean Winchester,” she began, which, _shit_ , was never a good sign when she used his full name. “When are you getting your ass to a therapist?”

            He groaned. “Ellen, come on, leave it alone.”

            She shook her head. “Oh hell no. I don’t fully understand what happened, or why it happened but I do understand this: you haven’t been to work since you got cleared, you flinch every fucking time a door in the house slams or when your ringer is on too loud. You don’t leave the house on your own. You know what that looks like to me?” He stubbornly didn’t reply. “PTSD!” she cried. “You need to get help, son. Don’t make me get you in-house therapist because I _will_ do it. You’ve got a lovely mate willing to wait on you hand and foot. You either take him with you to see someone, or else you’re going to have a rude awakening in the next couple of days.”

            And damn her, Dean knew if he didn’t do something, she would, and he wouldn’t like it.

            Damn her.

            The next day Dean opened his laptop and pulled up a Google search. He had no idea how to go about this, if there was a right or a wrong way, even.

            _Therapists Lawrance, KA_

_Dawn LouAnne_

_Missouri Moseley_

_Tessa Kitson_

Tessa Kitson? That seemed like a gentle enough name, she would take it easy on him, right?

            "Kitson Psychiatric, how can I help you today?" a peppy voice answered the phone.

            "Uh. I, uh, need to schedule an um, an intake?"

            "Of course! What's the name, doll face?"

            "Dean Winchester."

            "Lovely, what's your birthday?"

            Dean was run through all of the questions, and it was another fifteen minutes before he was able to schedule an appointment.

            Two days from now, two pm.

            He was terrified.

            He didn't tell anyone; not Bobby or Ellen and certainly not Castiel. He didn't want their praise or their watchful eyes. He wanted to prove to himself that he could be independent again, that he could go out without reaching for a hand to hold.

            So what if he went eighty miles an hour the entire way there, glancing in his rear view mirror every minute or so? And if he ran into the building, then who's business was that other than his own?

            By the time he was in the office with Tessa he was shaking, running clammy hands over his pants. "So tell me about you, Dean," she began. She had long brown hair which was tucked behind her ears with clips and perfectly manicured nails. She had minimal makeup and a "no-nonsense" expression on her face.

            She was maybe a little bit more intimidating than her name suggested.

            "Well, I'm an Aquarius and I like long walks on the beach." He grinned at her, and it faded almost immediately when he realized her expression didn't change. "I, uh... My family wants me to see a therapist."

            "How come?"

            Dean cleared his throat, shifting nervously in his seat. "Well. I uh. I was raped, I guess? A couple of months ago? And uh. It's still...fucking - I mean. Screwing with me."

            "You don't need to censor yourself here Dean. Can you tell me why _you_ think you need therapy?"

            Dean took a deep breath. He probably shouldn't lie to his new therapist. "I um. I have flashbacks a lot. And nightmares. And I keep snapping at my new mate. And my family. And I can't really go out on my own - like, this is terrifying. I can't even go to work -"

            Tessa held a hand up, bringing him stuttering to a stop. "I get it. You've got a lot going on, Dean." He nodded a little bit. "What would you like to start with?"

            Dean shrugged. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Where do you think I should start?"

            She smiled a little bit. "Well, as your new therapist with minimal understanding of your history, I'd like to learn more about you. You're more than your trauma, you understand that?"

            That piece of information startled Dean. It's all he'd been able to think about. Even after mating with Castiel, even after his family no longer coddling him. There was Dean pre-trauma and Dean post-trauma. And he'd never been pre-trauma Dean again. But now he'd have to recount who he was before. He wasn't entirely sure that was something he could do. But Tessa was looking at him calmly, her eyes open and understanding. Her office was all cool greens and blues, waves painted on the walls, clouds on the ceiling. It was calming and welcoming.

            He could do this.

            That night at dinner with his family and Castiel he confessed, "I saw a therapist today."

            Castiel's fork clattered to his plate. "Dean that's wonderful! How'd you feel about it?"

            Dean took another bite of his lasagna before replying. "It was definitely a new experience. I don't know how I feel about it yet. She wants to see me twice a week though. My copay is fifteen dollars, so I'll be able to afford that for a little while."

            Bobby shook his head. "Son you don't worry about paying that. You shouldn't have to deal with that on top of therapy."

            "But I need to go back to work eventually!" _And save up for Sam_.

            Bobby shook his head again. "You come back to work when you're ready. You know there's always a place for you at the garage."

            Dean sighed. His family would probably always coddle him to some extent. He wouldn't be able to escape that. Castiel, however, was still looking at him, a happy light in his eyes. "I'm proud of you," he finally said.

            That statement alone filled Dean with a warmth that he realized he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

 


	5. Unconventional

“So how are you guys getting along?” Sam asked.

            Dean shrugged, even though he knew Sam couldn’t see it. “We’ve been doing alright. He thanks me almost every day for ‘allowing him to mate with me’, as though I didn’t want it or something.”

            Underneath the irritation though, Sam could hear the fondness in Dean’s voice. “I’m really glad you guys did that,” he said. “You sound happy, which is definitely awesome.”

            Dean laughed. “Eh, happy enough. I started seeing a therapist a couple of weeks ago. Cas is really happy about that.”

            “Dean that’s wonderful!” Sam exclaimed. “Of course he’s happy about that, we’ve all been really worried about you. You haven’t told us a damn thing.”

            “And I don’t have to,” Dean snapped. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry, sorry. I’ve been...a little on edge. I keep taking everything too harshly lately.”

            Sam sighed. “No, I get it. You’re allowed to be on edge. You go ahead and get back to what you were doing. I’ll call you next week, okay?”

            “You got it Sammy.” He hung up before he could say ‘I love you’ because it was too sappy for him to stand right now.

            Three days later, Dean received a box in the mail. It was heavy and he was confused right up until he opened it.

            _Coping With Your Trauma_

_How To Meditate_

_I Am Worthy_

He ignored Sam’s phone calls and moved up his appointment with Tessa for the next day.

            “What the fuck are these?” he cried, dropping them on his desk. “What does he think I am, some hippie? I was raped, that doesn’t mean I’m now this helpless Omega who is going to go onto Oprah and share my story and empower other Omegas. That’s not me!”

            Tessa looked at him calmly. “You know that’s the first time I’ve heard you say that to me since our first session.”

            Dean faltered. “W-what? Say what?”

            She met his eyes. “The word ‘rape’.”

            Dean fell onto her couch, propping his head up in his hands. “I don’t...I didn’t. That’s beside the point.”

            Tessa pursed her lips. “I think that’s where you’re wrong. That’s a big deal.”

            “Why?” he snapped.

            “Because it’s the first step to an acceptance of what happened.”

            “I don’t want to accept that it happened! I want to know why the fuck my brother thinks I need therapy books. That’s why I’m seeing you!”

            Tessa tucked her hands underneath her, leaning forward so that Dean looked up at her. “I think it’s time for us to begin therapy homework.”

            “You’re fucking kidding me.”

            She sighed. “I know I said not to censor yourself here, but all the F-bombs are really making it hard to focus on my point.”

            “Sorry,” he grumbled.

            “Like I said, therapy homework. It’s not graded, there’s no final exam. It’s just little things that I encourage you to do in between our sessions. And I think I know where we can start.” Dean blinked at her. “I’d like you to begin reading the book _I Am Worthy_. I’ve read that book, and I believe it’s exactly what you would need.”

            Dean frowned. “But I don’t want homework,” he finally said meekly.

            Tessa laughed a little bit. “No one can force you to do this Dean, but you must know that only you can make progress towards recovery. Your decisions can help or hinder this progress, so really think on what you want to do for yourself.”

            And wasn’t that just a crumb of joy to take home with him.

            Not that he hadn’t been taking home tidbits of joy from each session. Tidbits such as intense flashbacks, night terrors, and anxiety attacks. Other tidbits included snapping at anyone and everyone who crossed his path the morning after a night terror, hyperventilating into Castiel’s neck on those mornings sometimes and other times, sitting on the floor of his shower and crying.

            Bobby and Ellen were tiptoeing around him. Sam didn’t need to, considering Dean would just hang up on him. And Castiel...Castiel interacted with him as though he were a delicate bird. There were days that it pissed him off, that he’d cuss him out and then profusely apologize for it. Other days, he’d lay in Castiel’s arms, letting him stroke his hair, kiss his head. The silence between them would be thick with words left unspoken; words of comfort, of fear, of confession.

            Nothing was ever said.

            At the end of the day, Castiel was always the best mate that Dean could have asked for. He always asked permission for kisses, - be it quick pecks, or the long and tender ones given before he went to work or home for the night - he would bring him breakfast every couple of days and would subject himself to Dean’s “Educational Movie Nights”. He would carry Dean to his room at the end of a movie night, and carefully tuck him into bed, kissing away his murmurings and soothing the furrow in his brow with a gentle thumb. Those were the mornings that Dean realized he was waking up without nightmares.

            It took several weeks and two chapters into _I Am Worthy_ for Dean to pluck up the courage to ask Castiel to stay the night one night. And Castiel, bless his Alpha heart, shucked his pants and crawled into Dean’s bed next to him. His arms were hesitant as they came around Dean and it took Dean scooting backwards for Castiel’s grasp to turn a little firmer, a little more confident.

            Castiel kissed the back of his neck. “Goodnight, Dean,” he murmured.

            Dean didn’t reply; instead he closed his eyes and

            …slept soundly through the night?

            When he opened his eyes the clock on his side table read five AM. Castiel still had his arms woven loosely around him, and he was snoring a little bit.

            So naturally, Dean decided to wake him up. He poked Castiel’s face a little bit and then kissed him on the nose continually until he snorted into wakefulness. “Wah-what is it? Are you okay Dean?”

            “Yeah,” he whispered. “It’s just. I didn’t have any nightmares!” Keeping his voice hushed in his excitement was difficult.

            Castiel ran a gentle hand over Dean’s face. “That’s so good, babe,” he mumbled sleepily. Dean’s heart skipped a beat at the pet name. “I’m so glad.” He mumbled something more and appeared to have drifted off again.

            Dean stayed awake a long time, watching his mate sleep beside him. When he woke again, it was to Castiel’s alarm, buzzing on the nightstand. Dean wriggled closer to Castiel, grumbling.

            He heard Castiel laugh softly, and then felt him smooth his hair down his head. A kiss dropped to his shoulder. “I need to get up,” Castiel murmured. “I’ve already missed so much work already. Marnie has been intensely lenient.”

            Dean finally rolled away from him. “Fine, fine. Will I see you later today?” he asked meekly.

            Castiel pressed another kiss to Dean’s forehead. “Of course you will. Now, I need to leave so I can get a fresh change of clothes.”

            Castiel gave a wave to Bobby and Ellen on the way out. They were at the table with their coffee and paper, and threw him a salute back.

            On his way to work, his phone gave a shrill, frustrated ring. Without taking his eyes off the road, he answered. “Hello?”

            “Cassie!” a loud voice called, causing him to fumble momentarily with the phone as he wrenched it away from his ear.

            “Hello Gabriel,” he said, agitation leaking into his voice. “What do you want?”

            “You’re alive!” he cried. “I wanted to hear my baby cousin’s voice, alive and well. How’s the mate?”

            Castiel smiled slightly. “He’s good. Getting better.”

            “Good, good. I’m glad you finally got over neuroses. It was about damn time.”

            “Shut the fuck up.”

            “No, I’m serious! I told you that you’d make a wonderful Alpha. And look at that; you got yourself a beautiful little Omega -”

            In an instant, Castiel was seeing red. “He is so much more than a little Omega,” he growled. “And it’d do you good to watch what you say about him.” With that, he hung up, throwing his phone into the passenger seat.

            He was crabby for the rest of the day, accidentally snapping when an old man tried to take an entire planter instead of letting Castiel pull one of the flowers to separate in its own pot. And then he dropped a vase of roses, shattering glass everywhere and mussing up the perfect petals as well.

            Charlie walked in as he was cleaning it up. “Whoa there, cowboy, where’s the fire?”

            Castiel shot a mean look at her. “I want to go home and shower so that I can see my mate. My cousin pissed me off this morning and -”

            “And it’s been following you all day? That’s not healthy, you know.”

            “I am aware.”

            “Well. We haven’t had a movie night since Dean...and since Sam left. Maybe...maybe we could have one tonight? We can let you and Dean pick the movie?” She sounded hesitant as she shuffled from foot to foot.

            Castiel immediately softened. “Let me ask Dean,” he finally said. “Could you sweep this up so I can take care of the cash box? I’d really like to see Dean.”

            Charlie took the broom from him and continued his work. “How have you guys been spending so much time together and don’t hate each other’s guts?”

            Castiel shrugged, pausing in his counting. “I couldn’t tell you,” he finally said. “I have no idea how he inherently trusts me so much. You’d think...after...I don’t know, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

            Charlie gawked at him. “You seriously don’t see it?!”

            “See what?”

            “You saved his life, Castiel. Of course he trusts you. You’ve been there when he had no one else. You’ve seen him at his lowest and _you’re still there_.”

            Castiel looked at her, stunned.

            “You can’t honestly tell me that you couldn’t see that.”

            Castiel shrugged. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

            They fell into an amiable silence as Castiel finished closing up. He said goodbye, promising to ask Dean about movie night.

            He drove home and took the fastest shower possible, scrubbing off a day's worth of dirt and fertilizer in five minutes. He washed himself in his scent neutralizing soap and threw on a fresh change of clothes. The cool air of late September was making itself known, and he grabbed a jacket on his way out the door.

            The moment he went to knock on Bobby Singer’s door, the door swung open and he got an armful of Dean. “You got out of a work like an hour ago,” he complained into his neck. “And you reek of that fucking soap.”

            Castiel pulled away from him, rubbing soothing hands over Dean’s shoulders. “There was a mess at the store. And what soap?”

            Dean pushed back into his grasp, burying his face into Castiel’s neck again. “That fucking.” Deep breath. “Blocker soap. Shit. I hate it.”

            Castiel swallowed. “I don’t - I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

            Dean rolled his eyes. “You mean you didn’t want me to feel forced to be attracted to you.” Castiel stubbornly kept his mouth shut. “Listen Cas, I know you think me this weak little Omega who’s been through some shit, but let’s face it. Even if I weren’t biologically attracted to you, I still very much find you attractive and if I could, I’d scent you all day. Also, that fucking soap makes it harder for me to mark you.”

            A zing of heat shot down Castiel’s spine. “M-mark me?”

            “Yeah. I don’t want anyone else thinking you’re a single man. You got me now. You’re mine.”

            “Jesus Christ Dean,” he muttered, unable to help himself.

            Dean cocked his head coyly. “You like that don’t you?” he said quietly.

            Castiel swallowed, refusing to meet his eyes. “That’s beside the point.”

            “Is it?”

            It was Bobby who interrupted them. “Would ya’ll stop making cow eyes and get in the house? You’re lettin’ all the cool air in and I don’t feel like turning the heat on this early in the year!”

            Dean winked and stepped out of Castiel’s way, ushering him into the house. He shut the door and turned Castiel, grabbing him and pressing a near violent kiss to his mouth. Castiel responded in earnest, gently winding his fingers through Dean’s hair and pulling him closer, lining their bodies up. Their mouths moved in tandem,

            “And stop making out in the entryway! Keep it PG thirteen you damn idgits!”

            They broke apart with a gasp and a grin grew on Dean’s face. “I wanted to do that when I first met you.”

            “Really?” Castiel asked, a little bit out of breath.

            “Yeah. And then you freaked out and ran the other way. You smelled like heaven and then just...took off. It was very off-putting.”

            “I’m sorry.” Castiel still looked a little bit dazed, holding loosely onto Dean’s hand.

            Dean was still smirking and he pulled Castiel the rest of the way into the house.

            “Wait, wait,” Castiel said suddenly. “Charlie invited us to movie night tonight. Would...would you like to go?”

            Dean’s face fell. “I haven’t seen any of them...not since…”

            “I know. But I’ll be there too,” he reassured him. “And if you say the word, we’ll leave. No harm, no foul.”

            Dean shrugged. “I guess we can go. I do miss Charlie. Jo is hardly ever here, considering she’s living on campus. It’s worth a shot, I guess? But we have to eat dinner here. Ellen is making burgers and she’s seasoning mine so I can actually fucking taste it.”

            Castiel laughed. “That’s fine by me. Now let me go say hello to your family before they chew us out for making out like a couple of teenagers in the walkway.”

            Both Bobby and Ellen pretended that they couldn’t smell the desire wafting off of Dean and Castiel and Dean spent the entire meal smirking into his burger.

            “I’m really happy you’re going out,” Ellen said as they were cleaning up.

            Dean shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, El.”

            Ellen put down her plates and rested her hands on Dean’s shoulders. “Yes it is, son. You haven’t gone out very much except for therapy. I’m proud of you, okay?”

            Dean couldn’t look her in the eyes, and he couldn’t come up with the words to reply to her. She eventually let him go and went back to gathering up the dishes.

            On the way to Charlie’s, Dean was looking a little white and Castiel took his hand, rubbing soothing circles over his palm.

            As soon as they knocked, the door was flung open and Jo all but tackled Dean. She wrapped her hands in his shirt and stood there holding him for a moment or two. “I should kick your ass,” she mumbled.

            “What did I do?” Dean cried.

            “I haven’t seen you since - in forever. I can’t handle that. You’re my brother, okay? Stop disappearing whenever I come home.”  Dean didn’t look at Castiel, knowing that he’d basically gotten caught in a lie. He ran to the woods whenever Jo came home for an evening, unsure of what he could possibly say to her, and he didn’t want her pity. It seemed like a good plan.

            Castiel slid past Dean and Jo, into the living room where he found Alfie sitting nervously in the recliner. “What are you doing here?” he asked, confusion lacing his words.

            Alfie looked up at him. “I - well, Jo invited me.”

            “Jo?”

            “Yeah...we’ve, um. We’ve been...spending time together. I think she likes me.”

            Castiel raised an eyebrow. “And do you like her?” Alfie was such a quiet person, always the timid Beta. Jo was fierce, and was able to take over a room with only a few words. It seemed an unlikely combination.

            “I…” Alfie hesitated, and then tipped his chin up. “Yes.”

            Castiel smiled at him. “Good.”

            Movie night was everything that Dean needed it to be. It was fun and loud. He got popcorn shoved down his pants, courtesy of Jo. He accidentally hit Alfie in the head with a chicken wing. Gilda gave a battle cry before tickling Charlie so much that she peed her pants and stormed to the bathroom. Castiel held Dean closely to his side as they watched the evening unfold. Two movies played, but hardly anyone had paid attention, as they were too busy catching up with one another.

            Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d had that much fun.

            Castiel brought him back home well into the early hours of the morning. The fact that it was Friday was a small blessing. He kissed Dean under the porch light and turned to go back to his car. He’d barely taken a step when Dean grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together. Castiel turned to see the question in his eyes before he said it out loud.

            “Stay?”

            He smiled warmly. “If this turns into a habit, I’ll need some more warning. Especially if it’s a work night.”

            Dean rolled his eyes, tugging Castiel into the house. “Good thing it’s not a work night.”

            They fumbled and bumped their way upstairs in the darkness. Once in his room, Dean shamelessly shucked his clothes and crawled under his blankets. The nights were getting cooler, and the air permeated the house easily, a cool scent filling every corner. Bobby never got the time to do the insulating, and still complained every fall and winter about the heating bill.

            Through the chilly air, Castiel could smell Dean. He was happier than he had been in days. Castiel knew therapy was taking a lot out of him. When he came over from work, Dean would be sprawled across the couch, working his way through a bag of Doritos. He’d grin at Castiel and reach for him with orange fingers, but the smile didn’t meet his eyes.

            Tonight though, as Castiel flipped off the lightswitch, Dean’s whole being was smiling and it made Castiel’s heart squeeze with joy.

* * *

 [](http://tinypic.com?ref=33u3gis)

            “I kind of want to sleep with him.” Dean’s words fell flat, lacking the confidence he used to have when that phrase went flying past his lips.

            Tessa raised a curious eyebrow. “How far have you guys gone?”

            A blush painted itself up Dean’s neck, and the smell of the room was tinged with bittersweet embarrassment. “We, uh - we’ve made out.”

            “And you want to get straight to the sex?”

            Dean sighed and ran his palms over his legs. “I just - I’m really really attracted to him. He makes my body want things I didn’t think my body would want ever again after everything.”

            “So your body wants it? Or your brain thinks you should want it?”

            The room fell silent and Dean glared resolutely at the wall above Tessa’s desk. “I hate it when you do that shit.”

            “Tell me, what’s the longest relationship you’ve had?”

            He shrugged. “Like, a year. I dunno, it was right after I got out of high school.”

            “And at what point did you become sexually active with your partners?”

            He shrugged again. “A couple of months, if it didn’t start out as a hookup.”

            Tessa hummed. “Are you so sure that you are actually desiring sex, and that it’s not just you telling yourself it’s about time?”

            Stubbornly, Dean didn’t say anything.

            Tessa sighed and glanced at the clock. “Tell you what, your homework for this week is to be more physical with Castiel. No sex, but explore your boundaries with him. Be aware of yourself and your triggers. And for the love of God, don’t just jump on him. Really have a discussion, please. I’d love to meet your mate, but not in therapy.”

            Dean gave her a smirk. “Aw, he’s already got a therapist; can’t encourage cheating!”

            Tessa shook her head and laughed. “Get out of here. I’ll see you on Thursday!”

            Even though the hour long session had been a hard one - Tessa had asked him to explore the way he’d felt both times that Azazel had put him in the hospital. She didn’t ask what exactly happened, she just asked how he felt(he felt dirty and broken for it). Dean couldn’t put his finger on the moment that the conversation turned to his sudden craving for sex but then it hit him.

            Were his suppressants still working?

            Castiel had stopped using the blocker soap about a week ago. Suppressants usually stopped working after one has been exposed to their mate for so long.

            Oh God, what if he was going to go into heat?

            He arrived home to find Castiel sitting in the living room with Bobby. Something was playing on the TV, he didn’t take the time to see what. He dropped his keys on the floor and went straight to the couch. Before Castiel even had the chance to say anything, Dean was lifting his arm up and tucking himself into Castiel’s side. He shoved his face into Castiel’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. He smelled of warmth and cool summer days, like the breeze that gave you respite on a hot day.

            He continued to breathe into Castiel’s arm until the panic had abated. When he opened his eyes again, they were alone in the living room and Castiel was looking down at him in utter confusion. “Are you alright, Dean?” he asked.

            Dean nodded a little bit, inhaling again. “I just - I had a moment.”

            “Would you like to share with the class?”

            Dean stuck his tongue out at Castiel’s sass. “I just wondered, what if my suppressants stop working? I love being able to scent you and you know...mark you but. What if I go into Heat?”

            Castiel ran a soothing hand over Dean’s head. “What do you normally do when you go into Heat?”

            Dean shrugged. “Lock myself in my bedroom for three days. Bobby usually brings me food three times a day. I have these toys but they - they never really made a difference.”

            “So why are you panicking?”

            “Because...I have you now,” he mumbled.

            Castiel shrugged over until Dean was sitting up. He rested his hands on Dean’s shoulders and rubbed his thumbs in soothingly. “Dean, I don’t have to be there for your Heat. You know that. If you don’t want me there for it for the rest of your life, I won’t be there. If you only want me sometimes, then I’ll be there for those times. But only if you want me.”

            “That’s the problem, I _do_ want you.”

            Castiel’s mouth opened, and then closed again. “I’m not sure what to do with that information,” he admitted hesitantly.

            Dean swallowed. “Can we...can we try more things? Don’t get me wrong, I fucking love kissing you but I can promise you that’s not where I want to stop for the rest of my life.” When Castiel looked like he was about to protest, Dean said, “my therapist told me we should at least try. A-and that we should be careful with my, um, triggers.”

            Castiel nodded slowly. “So what do you think you _don’t_ want?”

            And, oh God this conversation just went from zero to awkward in the span of a single breath.

            Dean sniffed a bit, scratching his head. “Uh...don’t hold me down. I don’t like you know, slurs and stuff. I don’t think I can do dirty talk for a while...I really just want to be on top of you.” The last bit came out in a breathless rush and he turned away, hoping Castiel couldn’t see the red that painted his cheeks and ears.

            However, Castiel slipped a gentle hand under Dean’s chin and turned his head so they were facing each other again. He smiled a little bit. “I think we can try that,” he said softly.

            Dean smiled and tugged on his hand, pulling him upstairs. Once the door to his room was shut behind them, he pushed Castiel slightly, just enough to drop him to the edge of his bed. He sat and regarded Dean with a near frightening calm.

            “Shit,” he laughed, running a hand through his hair. “I haven’t been this nervous for something in a while.”

            Castiel grinned at him. “Can I help you?” When Dean nodded, he intertwined their hands and pulled Dean closer to him. Their eyes met and held and Dean’s nervous smile fell. Castiel caught his face between warm palms and softly tugged him down to a tender kiss. Dean’s hands fell to rest on Castiel’s shoulders as he stepped forward between the spread of his legs.

            There was a gentle swipe of a tongue, permission being asked for; permission granted and when Dean’s tongue brushed along Castiel’s a swift lick of heat raced down his spine. In an instant, he felt himself dampening his boxers. Castiel ran his tongue along Dean’s teasing, playing, still allowing Dean to have the upper hand. Dean could taste his scent on his tongue, tasting the sweet coolness, reveling in it.

            God, it was heady.

            Another beat, and Dean moved to straddle Castiel’s legs. He felt Castiel tense up underneath him, nervousness leaking into his scent for a brief moment before Dean took his head into his hands, tilted a little bit, and deepened the kiss even more.

            Castiel sighed into his mouth, resting his hands gently at the jut of Dean’s hips, rubbing circles into the exposed skin at his waist with his thumbs. Dean pressed kiss after kiss into Castiel’s mouth until the tension faded from his body, from his scent. And with that, he went back to more demanding licks, presses of tongue and heat and warmth.

            Dean shifted slightly and almost startled at the feel of Castiel’s erection between his legs. He took a deep breath, pushing aside the irrational swell of fear, remembering that this was Castiel beneath him, his Cas, his mate, the Alpha who saved him time and time again and ground down slightly.

            The gasp that Castiel let out damn near made Dean delirious. He pressed down again and Castiel broke away from their kiss, biting his lip.

            “Jesus, Dean - don’t -” his words devolved into a low moan as Dean rolled his hips downwards again. “Oh God,” he whimpered. His hands were no longer resting at Dean’s hips; they were clenched into fists, fingernails into palms, knuckles white.

            Dean was grinning now as he ground down again. When he came up though, his erection pressed against Castiel’s stomach and he let out a gasp of his own, pleasure sparking in every nerve ending.

            Castiel’s head dropped to Dean’s shoulder and he pressed little kisses, little nibbles into the skin around his collarbone. He was sure that he was going to break the skin of his palms if he didn’t release his clenched fingers but -

            “C’mon Cas,” Dean whispered into his ear. “You can hold me, you big baby. And reciprocate a little bit. I said I wanted to be on you, not doing all the work.”

            Castiel swallowed thickly and allowed his arms to loop around Dean’s waist and pull him down as he thrust up. They both let out twin moans of pleasure at the sensation. Dean’s hands were now fisted in the sleeves of Castiel’s shirt, holding on for dear life. He brought his hips down again and stuttered, feeling the build of an orgasm at the base of his spine.

            Castiel opened his eyes, looking up at Dean in awe. Dean’s face was slack, his head thrown back and mouth slightly ajar, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Oh God,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful.”

            Dean’s eyes snapped open and he gave a particularly hard thrust downwards, causing Castiel to struggle with keeping his eyes open. He couldn’t even say anything though; he could only continue to stare at his mate as he began to murmur words of praise and love.

            “You’re wonderful, so wonderful. So strong and beautiful. You’re mine, right Dean? Are you mine?”

            “Yours,” he gasped. “Yes, I’m yours, I’m your’s I’m -”

            Castiel pressed up as Dean pressed down and his orgasm rocketed through him at an alarming speed. He let out a sound that was somewhere between a whine and a moan and collapsed onto Castiel, shivering, shaking, his limbs turned to rubber.

            Castiel slowly leaned them backwards until he was laying flat and Dean’s head was pillowed on his chest. He rubbed Dean’s back, feeling his shirt clinging to his skin with sweat.

            “That was awesome,” Dean breathed. Castiel hummed in agreement.

            They laid in silence for another few minutes before Dean sat up suddenly. “You - you didn’t get off!” he exclaimed in a nearly accusatory tone.

            Castiel shrugged. “It didn’t seem of import.”

            “It didn’t seem of -! You ass. May I?”

            Castiel waved his hand down his body. “Only if you’d like. I don’t want you to feel you have -”

            But Dean was already unzipping his fly and helping Castiel shimmy out of his pants just enough to free his cock. It sprang up from the confines of his boxers and Dean felt his mouth water a little bit. But not today; he wasn’t quite ready for that.

            It was large and heavy, the skin silky and smooth beneath his hand. He heard Castiel sigh a little bit, and watched his body relax into the bed. It was nice, sitting here quietly, slowly jacking off Castiel in his bed and then -

            He got a wicked, wicked idea.

            “Hold on,” he murmured, pausing his ministrations. He stepped out of his own pants and stuck his hand behind him, into his boxers. His hand came back shiny and slick.

            Castiel’s eyes widened into saucers and he reached forward, “wait, Dean – nghh!” His head fell back to the bed with a thump, his body gone limp with pleasure.

            After a few moments though, his hips began thrusting in time with the pumps of Dean’s fist. He was mumbling to himself, eyes squeezed shut. As his thrusts became more erratic, Dean sped his hand up, watching every detail of Castiel that he possibly could.

            “Dean,” he gasped. “Dean, I’m going to -” He shoved his fist into his mouth as he came, muffling his moan as he fell back onto the bed, streams of white falling onto his stomach.

            A minute of silence passed between them and Castiel finally whispered, “that...was indeed, awesome.”

            Dean snorted and scooted himself off of the bed. “Yeah, and now I’m covered in your spunk...well, my hand. You, on the other hand...are covered.”

            Castiel opened one eye and made a noncommittal sound. “It was to be expected. That was an awful trick you pulled right there.”

            Dean winked at him. “Oh, you loved it.”

            The room smelled of them both, of sex and passion and lust. It was heady and Dean opened a window, waving in some of the cooler air. “Christ on a cracker, it feels like a million degrees in here.”

            “Attaining orgasm does make your body temperature go up, due to the increased blood flow -”

            “Okay, Einstein.” He cut him off and threw a towel at him. “Clean yourself up. You’re gonna reek.”

            Castiel tried to muster the energy to glare, but gave up. “You’re not going to be smelling so good, yourself.”

            Maintaining eye contact, Dean lifted up his hand and licked up his palm. “Oh, I’m going to be smelling fucking _awesome_.” And dammit, that shouldn’t have made his cock give a feeble twitch of arousal but it did.

            Castiel wiped himself off and then sat up, looking curiously at Dean. “How...how are you feeling?”

            “Are you serious?”

            Castiel leveled a look at him that proved that, yes, he was very serious.

            Dean shrugged on a clean shirt. “I feel good. I’m just - really fuckin’ glad we could do that. Yeah, I got a little freaked at first, when I felt your knot but all I had to do was look at you. You kept me grounded.”

            Castiel smiled. “I’m glad. I never want you to be uncomfortable, even more so if we are going to be sexually active.”

            Dean groaned. “Never say that again.”

            “Say what? Sexually act - mphh.” Dean pressed his mouth against Castiel’s in a chaste kiss and bit his lip. “If that’s what I’m going to get when I say sexua-” Dean smacked him upside the head.

            “I dare you,” he laughed.

            And even though they both had to spray themselves with scent neutralizing deodorant, and Bobby and Ellen still gave them looks down their noses, Castiel was still so happy he thought his heart would burst from him

* * *

 [](http://tinypic.com?ref=33u3gis)

            Naturally, their first time together snowballed into a second and a third and a fourth. All of a sudden Dean couldn’t keep his hands off of Castiel. The more frequently he went to therapy, the more of his book he read, the more confident he grew. He’d haul Castiel into the house, attacking him with harsh kisses. He would jump on top of him while watching TV. He’d casually bring a palm over Castiel’s crotch until a growing bulge met him halfway.

            Castiel was sure he’d created a monster.

            Missouri reassured him that this was just Dean re-discovering his sexuality after having been victimized.

            Castiel was sure he’d never been more exhausted in his life, even when he was dying.

            Dean would wring orgasm after orgasm after him, and then would come back for more in a mere hour. Castiel had begun to keep a change of clothes in his car, because on the nights he spent the night, he knew he couldn’t go into work reeking of his mate’s slick and orgasm. He was going to his own house less and less often and it nearly became an issue until Dean, one afternoon, asked to come over.

            “Are you sure?” Castiel had asked. “I want you to feel safe.”

            Dean only rolled his eyes. “Take me to your house, Alpha,” he said.

            And who was Castiel to ignore a demand like that?

            And so one evening after a particularly easy day at the shop, Castiel picked Dean up, threw his duffle in the backseat and drove them to his apartment.

            Castiel lived modestly, never really going out of his way to buy anything lavish. Whatever he didn’t spend on necessities went into a savings account for his future arboretum. He had few photos about. There was one that Gabriel had forced him to take, in which they were both smiling widely, having just gotten off of a roller coaster. They had their arms around each other and their hair was windswept and messy. Another photo was of his family. His mother, father, brothers, Anna, and himself. Anna was the only one smiling, blissfully unaware of the growing tensions between her family members; content as the baby of the family.

            Dean dropped his bag in the walkway and immediately threw himself down onto Castiel’s plush couch. He pressed his face into the cushion and then turned to look at Castiel regarding him with confusion. “Smells like you,” he explained with a cheeky grin.

            Castiel shook his head fondly.

            And thus began a new phase. Dean had slowly eased back into going to work, starting out with one day a week and then gradually three days a week over the course of two months. Castiel would drop Dean off at the garage in the mornings, and then pick him up in the evenings after he closed the shop.

            Dean was happy to be back at work, happy to be bantering with Jo and Garth and Benny. He was feeling normal again, the assault felt like a far off memory, maybe something that happened when he was in between sleep and wakefulness. It didn’t feel real at all anymore.

            Castiel was just happy to have Dean, his mate. He was happy to have his mate. He finally stopped thanking Dean after they had an argument about it. It was their first real fight and Castiel cried a little bit and Dean hugged him until they both felt okay to let each other go.

            “You keep thanking me and it keeps making me feel like an asshole -”

            “You’re not though! I just appreciate, with what you’ve been through—”

            “You’re not _listening_ , Cas! Stop thanking me and leave it at that! Why do I need to explain this to you _again_?”

            “I just want to understand!”

            “You don’t _need_ to understand, you dick! When I say don’t do something, I don’t need to explain myself!”

            The argument dropped off when Castiel turned away, his eyes stinging and Dean wrapped himself around his mate until the tension left the air and he was no longer angry.

            Afterwards, Castiel laughed at them. “That was our first fight.”

            “Yeah, yeah now let’s kiss and make up.” And really, Castiel should have been expecting that.

            It was easier to fool around at Castiel’s too. Neither of them had to bite down on their moans. Dean could shove Castiel onto the bed, not caring about the loud crack of the headboard against the wall. When Castiel sucked him down in one fell swoop one night, he didn’t have to hold back the whine of pleasure it wrung out of him. Castiel allowed himself to shout when Dean was massaging his knot with warm hands, covered in his own slick.

            It was messy and beautiful and Castiel loved every bit of it.

            Even more so when Dean began to spend the night. He couldn’t get enough of waking up next to his mate, cuddled in close to him, head pillowed on his chest. Sure, getting Dean out of bed was a challenge even on the best of mornings, but it was worth it to be able to give him gentle kisses goodnight, even if Dean did make him sleep in the wet spot on occasional nights.

            Castiel never imagined himself so happy.

            And then Dean stopped taking his suppressants.


	6. Heat and Hospitals

It had been a weird week. Dean was crabby and pushy and snappy. He complained when Castiel didn't put enough seasoning on his plate which had happened before, he'd just never been so frustrated about it. He was so hot he wanted to tear his skin off. Before he and Castiel crawled into bed, he took a long cold shower, which only eased his irritability slightly.

            Castiel, his ever patient Alpha, kissed him on the nose when he came to bed, and let him toss and turn all night, seeking the cold spots in the sheets.

            Neither of them thought of what it could mean.

            So Castiel in his blissful ignorance got up for work and turned off Dean's alarm. A day of rest would do him some good and he liked Castiel's bed a lot, so it seemed the best plan of action to let him spend a day in it. So he gave Dean a gentle kiss and went to work.

            Dean woke up in pain. His stomach cramped, his skin was damp with sweat and -  oh shit. Oh shit, his boxers were damp with slick.

            He was in Heat.

            He did the first thing that his addled brain could make sense of - shoved his hand down the front of his boxers and jacked himself to completion in less than five minutes. It eased the burning fever inside of him only slightly, enough to make him wish that it had done more.

            Dean was panting; every breath seemed to be a challenge. He lay in Castiel's bed grateful for his mate apparently opting to have him sleep in. The sheets itched at his skin though, the pillow was uncomfortable beneath his neck. His joints ached with his climbing temperature. This was his body's way of saying _Alpha, I need you_ , even though his mouth did not. His body was sending out chemicals and pheromones, reeking of fertility and readiness, while Dean was panicking and trying to figure out what to do.

 

He hadn't intended on this happening at Castiel's. He figured his Heat was close, but he thought he had three more days at the very least. He’d stopped taking his suppressants over two weeks ago, giving up on them entirely. He hadn't expected to wake up in Castiel's bed, in a puddle of his own slick.

 

He and Castiel had yet to do the whole shebang, sex thing. Castiel could smell Dean's nerves, sense how apprehensive he was. He was more than content to lay with Dean and kiss and grind and rut against each other with abandon.

 

This time Dean wanted it, nerves be damned. He wanted Castiel's knot buried deep inside of him, grinding against his prostate. He wanted to milk every last bit of come from Castiel's knot until he was panting against Dean's skin. He wanted to ride his knot with fervor, pressing down and sliding back up; he wanted to watch Castiel's eyes roll back as he did it.

 

He needed Castiel to come back home.

 

His fingers were shaking as he dialed the florist’s number.

 

"Marnie's floral-"

 

"Cas you need to come home," Dean grunted.

 

He heard Castiel's intake of breath. "Is everything okay Dean?" he sounded like himself, normal, concerned and caring.

 

"I need you," he said flatly. He had already shucked his clothes, chasing after the cool air; nothing was working. He felt as though his skin were boiling.

 

"Dean you don't -”

 

Dean huffed." Either come home or don't but I will warn you, your apartment will reek of Heat whichever you choose and I may or may not be fingering myself in your bed right now."

 

Castiel's next intake of breath was one of shock, and of arousal. "I'll be there as soon as I can.” He paused. “Don't hurt yourself." Dean snorted as the phone hung up. As if.

 

Dean smelled when Castiel came into the house, rather than heard. Something permeated the scent of his Heat, it was musky and delicious - aroused Alpha. Dean moaned at it, twisting his fingers inside of himself, fisting his cock.

 

Castiel walked carefully through the house, desperately trying not to take deep breaths, trying not to inhale the scent of his mate in arousal. All of that went straight to hell the moment he got to his doorway. Dean was sprawled out on his bed, three fingers deep inside of himself, the other hand wrapped tightly around his cock. His hands and thighs were shiny with slick, and the scent of that alone was driving him mad.

 

"Fuck," he breathed quietly, immediately shucking his shirt off.

 

Dean's head came off the mattress with a whine. Castiel watched Dean take his fingers from himself and switch hands, using his own slick to ease the way on his cock. Castiel nearly bit through his lip in his haste to undress to match Dean and maintain a gentle touch.

 

Dean moaned again and scrabbled damply at Castiel's wrist, desperately moving his hand to his cock. The weight was hot and heavy in Castiel’s hand, slick and shiny. The head was red, looking nearly abused. Dean whimpered slightly at Castiel's touch.

 

Castiel leaned over as Dean continued to finger himself, his rhythm skipping as Castiel twisted his wrist on an up stroke. It was harsh and gentle and too much and not enough at the same time. Dean couldn't breathe around the urgency in his throat.

 

Castiel leaned down and softly licked the shell of Dean's ear and that was it, show over. Dean's orgasm hit him like a tractor truck through his head. His whole body shuddered and clenched and he shouted as he came, shivering and shaking and eventually curling into himself at the intensity of it.

 

Castiel lay quietly next to him until he finally grunted, "holy shit." A hand stroked gently through his hair as he gradually came back to his senses. The orgasm had allowed his Heat to abate some small amount. It would be enough to eat and have a drink, if he didn't feel like jello. It'd been a long time since he'd had an unmedicated Heat, the intensity shook him. If that's how it was without a knot, he couldn't even begin to imagine what it'd be like with one.

 

Eventually, maybe only moments later, Castiel roused Dean. "Let's get up," he murmured. "You need carbs and fluids."

 

"I can think of a fluid," Dean said with a leer. He didn't quite have the effect he wanted due to still being orgasm high.

 

Castiel only snorted, gently pulling Dean upright. He walked to the closet pulled a terrycloth robe off of the hook, wrapping it around Dean's shoulders. "How does grilled cheese and tomato soup sound?" he asked.

 

Dean frowned. "I'm horny, not sick."

 

No matter his ailment, he still found himself at the table with a sandwich, soup, and a glass of orange juice in front of him. Castiel regarded him calmly from the other side of the table, his own sandwich and juice in hand. When Dean asked why he needed to eat too, if he just ate a while ago before work, Castiel's response was, "I need to be able to keep up with you."

 

Dean would be lying if he said that didn't send a sharp zing of heat down his spine.

 

By the time he finished his sandwich, he could feel himself growing hard again. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, another dribble of slick sliding from him. “Cas,” he whimpered. “Can we-?”

            Castiel set his half eaten sandwich down. “Let’s go.”

            They didn’t make it upstairs. Dean shucked the clothes Castiel had put on him less than an hour ago and pinned him to the couch with heavy hands and insistent kisses. “Go around, he murmured against his lips. “And take your fucking clothes off for fuck’s sake.”

            Castiel scrambled to comply, his clothes falling into a heap at his feet. Dean shoved him down onto the couch and jacked his cock a few times. Castiel’s head fell back onto the couch and he all but sobbed at the sensation. He was surrounded by Dean, Dean, Dean. His scent had permeated the entire apartment, everything drenched in the scent of arousal and Heat.

            And then suddenly, with no warning or preamble, he was further surrounded. His head snapped up as Dean sank down onto his cock and warmth enveloped him. He let out a sound between a groan and whine and clenched tightly to Dean’s hips.

            Dean’s head fell forward, resting on Castiel’s shoulder. “Like that, Alpha? How’s that feel?” He ground his hips down, slid up and then dropped back down. Castiel’s breath left him in a rush. “I’m going to ride you til you can’t think.”

            “I think I’m already there,” Castiel gasped as Dean rose up and came back down.

            “Oh no you’re not,” Dean grit out between clenched teeth. He bore down again. “I want you screaming, Alpha. Tell me how good I am.”

            Castiel could do nothing but comply. “You’re so good, Dean. You’re perfect, fucking - ah - so fucking - nghh - perfect. Just for me. Mine. My perfect Omega. So good for me, I love you, I love you I—” his words devolved into more mindless babbling as Dean rode him into oblivion.

            And then Dean was coming, clenching tightly on Castiel’s dick. He cried out and had barely enough presence of mind to lift Dean off of him as his knot swelled and he was coming, curling over Dean, sounds of pleasure escaping through clenched teeth.

            Dean barely gave himself any recovery time as he crawled off of Castiel, got down on his knees and sucked his dick between hollowed cheeks. Castiel all but yelped as Dean massaged his knot with warm hands, milking more and more come from him until he was petting the side of his face, whimpering at the sensitivity, unable to protest any further.

            Dean pulled off with a wet pop and stared down at Castiel’s engorged knot, licking one last stripe up his spent dick, unable to resist. “Why’d you pull me off?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

            It took Castiel a couple of minutes to answer. “I’m not ready to knot you yet,” he finally sighed.

            Dean slid bonelessly onto the couch next to him. “Am I privy to know why?”

            “No,” he said calmly. “I don’t even know why. I just...not yet. Is that okay?”

            Dean shrugged. “What am I supposed to say, ‘no’? You know it’ll just be harder to cool me off than if we tied.”

            “I’m aware of the mechanics, Dean.”

            “Alright, alright.” His eyes closed and he found himself drifting. He felt Castiel swipe him down with a cool cloth, wrapping one around his neck. It felt like it had come right out of the freezer, and when the heck did Castiel get the time to do that?

            When he woke again, it was with a crick in his neck the size of Texas and his cock was swollen against his stomach again. He groaned, twisting and then jolting when he realized Castiel was right next to him. He held a plate with chicken on it and had a pleading look on his face.

            "I know you're uncomfortable, but I need you to eat before we do anything else."

            Dean whined in the back of his throat but took the plate anyways. His slick was seeping onto the couch below him and his temperature felt as though it had shot up a million degrees. Regardless he, took the plate and fork, stabbing into the neatly cut chicken Castiel had presented him with.

            The moment he finished eating, he lunged at Castiel, knocking him back to the floor. Dean licked a wet stripe up his neck, biting his earlobe. “Are you ready for me, Alpha?”

            “Dean, yes -”

            Dean ground down on Castiel’s exposed cock (and wasn’t that thoughtful, he hadn’t gotten dressed again) covering it in slick. The head caught at the edge of his hole and he whined again, throwing his head back. One expert tilt of his hips, a slight adjustment, and he was sliding down onto Castiel. Castiel’s head came up off of the floor with a groan as he situated his hands on Dean’s hips. Dean began to ride him, as rough and hard as the last time and Castiel was sure he wouldn’t survive three days of it.

            But he did - three days of Dean riding him to the other side of oblivion, to him pulling Dean up the second his knot swelling, to Dean sucking him down like nobody’s business, to sex in the shower, to sex on top of his rickety dining table, to waking up to Dean kissing down his body, to eating sporadic meals on the floor.

            His whole house reeked by the end of it. When Castiel woke up on the fourth day, it was to Dean snoring softly next to him in the bed. He was sprawled across the ruined sheets, his back, scars and all, displayed. Castiel ran a gentle finger down one of them, watching his muscles ripple as he shifted, mumbling into the pillow.

            And then he set about to straightening the apartment. He shoved open all of the windows, allowing the brisk breeze to do the work of airing it out. He doused the couch and most of the living room floor in fabric cleaner. He picked up the random articles of clothing strewn about and threw them into his laundry basket.

            By the time he got around to making breakfast, the apartment smelled marginally better, the scent of cleaning products overwhelming the scent of Heat and mating.

            And then there was a knock on the door.

            The moment he opened the door, Gabriel barged right in, and then backpedaled against the wall. “ _Jee_ -zus, did your apartment recently turn into a brothel?! What the fuck?”

            “Shh!” Castiel smacked him. “He’s sleeping. And no, you insufferable asshole, he was just in Heat, or couldn’t you tell?

            A look of realization dawned across Gabriel’s face. “Ah,” he whispered. “Gotchya. So how’s life, aside from fucking like the dogs we descended from?”

            Castiel glared at him. “Life is well.”

            “You enjoying being mated?”

            “With all of my heart, yes.”

            “Aww, look at that! Baby cousin, all growed up!”

            “Shut up,” Castiel grumbled. He walked into the kitchen, angrily pulling breakfast items from the fridge. Count on Gabriel to plan a surprise visit after the most eventful time with his mate.

            He walked into the kitchen behind Castiel and groaned. “Even in the kitchen? The dining room? Have you no decency?”

            Castiel rolled his eyes. “One, it’s been disinfected. Two, sorry I wasn’t prepared for any surprise guests.”

            “Yeah, yeah. I just wanted to come see you live and kicking. I’m glad you finally manned up.”

            Castiel shrugged. “He didn’t really present me with any other options.”

            “He forced you?!”

            “No, he was just...very convincing. We’ve been getting over our hang ups together, so it’s going pretty well.”

            Gabriel stole an apple from the fruit bowl on the countertop. “Joint therapy?” he asked, after a bite.

            “Not joint, no. Just...lots of therapy.”

            Gabriel nodded and took another bite. “Well. I’m proud of you. I’m only in town for a couple of days. I’m going to go check out the local scene and I expect to be meeting your mate for lunch tomorrow, capisce?”

            Castiel smiled fondly. “Yes, I capisce.”

            By the time that Dean hauled himself from bed, Gabriel was long gone, and a breakfast of scrambled eggs and pancakes adorned the table. He rubbed his palms together, grinning at Castiel as he sat down. “Best. Mate. Ever!”

            Castiel took his own seat, smiling. “Of course.”

            They ate in amicable silence for a few moments before Dean cleared his throat. “So...you love me, huh?”

            A blush painted up Castiel’s neck. “I...thought you had forgotten that.”

            “Oh hell no,”  Dean exclaimed. “I just wanted to, you know, not be horny when I talked about it. So. Let’s talk.”

            Castiel shoved another forkful of eggs into his mouth. “What’s there to talk about?” he asked.

            “You love me, right? Not just in the heat - hah - of the moment?”

            Castiel laughed a little bit. “Of course I love you Dean. I wish I’d said it under more romantic circumstances, but yes. I do love you.”

            “Good.” Dean gave him a cheeky grin. “I love you too.”

* * *

           [](http://tinypic.com?ref=33u3gis)

Meeting Gabriel could have gone better, in retrospect.

            Under the best of circumstances, Gabriel was infinitely frustrating. And now Dean bore witness, and suffering, to that.

            Castiel was unsure as to why he’d expected them to get along. First, Dean was already cranky. After having been running a fever for the past three days, the November chill irritated him and he didn’t feel like he could get warm enough. Gabriel poked fun at that, saying ‘little Omega’ only once and immediately backing off when Castiel let out a furious growl. It even cowed Dean slightly.

            Dean made fun of Gabriel when his burger fell apart after the first bite and Gabriel made a crude joke about the size of Dean’s mouth in comparison to his burger and other things. Dean made fun of his height.

            All in all, lunch devolved very quickly into a hostile gathering and Castiel nearly feared for each of their lives. And then Gabriel conveniently got a phone call, forcing him to have to go home early, so he paid their bill and then left.

            Dean slumped back into his seat, rubbing his temples. “Your cousin is infuriating.”

            Castiel laughed. “Trust me, I am well aware. He teased me for months after I popped my knot. Everything is a joke to him.”

            “But he loves you.”     

            “Yes, he does. He’s the only family I have.”

            “So I guess I’ll tolerate him. For your sake.”

            “Yes, please.”

            Their lives gradually shifted back into their routine of normalcy. Dean spent more nights at Castiel’s. He was back at work a full five days a week. Benny teased him from time to time, on the days that he waited for Castiel to pick him up after work. He spent some evenings with Castiel looking over landscapes around the state, trying to find the best plot of land for his future arboretum. Weekends were spent back at home with Bobby and Ellen and sometimes Jo. He was finally readjusting, his life reaching some sort of normal again.

            But then, life always had different plans for Dean Winchester than he’d been led to believe.

            Dean was at work underneath a civic for an oil change when he smelled it. It was thick and overwhelming, piercing his nose - it smelled of red clay, crumbling in the summer sun. Dean knew that smell all too well.

            That was the scent that came right before Azazel hit him.

            In one swift movement, Dean’s legs were grabbed and he was pulled out from underneath the car so quickly, that the crawler went sailing in the other direction. Azazel glared down at him, yellow eyes blazing. He reeked of putrid anger and liquor. His hand was bunched in the front of Dean’s shirt, and before he could comprehend the situation at hand, a fist slammed into his face, sending a starburst of pain through his jaw, radiating into his neck.

            “You think I can’t smell that other Alpha on you? Think I can’t tell that’s where you’ve been?!” Another blow landed on the other side of his face. “You’re _mine_ , you Omega whore! _Mine_!”

            Blood was pooling in Dean’s mouth and he managed to spit some of it out and remove himself from Azazel’s grasp, making a desperate attempt to roll away and onto his feet. He ended up getting a kick straight to the kidney for his efforts. Another kick landed on his stomach and oxygen whooshed out of him painfully quickly. He found himself curled in a ball as Azazel continued kicking him, shouting slurs, one after the other.

            Usually Dean could hold his own in a fight - he had to, being an Omega and a frequent target. Ellen had to actually pull him aside and tell him that she was losing customers by bashing Alpha’s heads into tables any time they groped him. He’d felt humiliated, but agreed to try to be a pacifist from then on. But he couldn’t defend himself this time, caught totally off guard, in his element, where he was supposed to be safe. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move his body to defend himself against each blow.

            A hand fisted in Dean’s hair, and he cried out, uncurling to avoid getting his hair ripped out, chasing after the sharp pain. With that though, Azazel gained the advantage and gave a particularly harsh kick directly into Dean’s ribs before rolling him over to straddle him. Dean could barely see Azazel with one eye nearly swollen shut, and blood from the wounds on his face dripping blood into his other eye.

            “You’re mine, you Omega bitch!” he yelled again. “An here’s wh-” Dean tuned him out then, accepting that this would be his end; he was going to die at the hands of a man who had spent the last several months abusing him. But then something permeated Azazel’s thick canyon scent. It was the scent of a building storm, ozone in the air, the scent of lightning coming, static and humidity. At that Dean tuned back in, halfway listening to what Azazel was continuing to say. "And I'm the _only_ one," punch! "who will _ever_ ," punch! "stuff you so full -!"

            This time, his pause wasn't followed by a punch. His words were cut off with a sickening squelching crunch. His eyes widened with shock, never leaving Dean’s as he toppled forward, pulling a yelp from Dean at the pressure on his ribs.

            A split second later, though, the body was shoved off of Dean and arms wrapped around his waist. He hissed in pain as Castiel hauled him up, carefully as he could. “Jo is calling 911,” he whispered. Dean allowed himself to melt into Castiel’s embrace, struggling to find peace in the cooling scent, as breathing was growing more and more difficult.

            Castiel was nuzzling him, murmuring into his ear over and over again, “mate. My mate; my beloved.” Dean drifted as the wail of the sirens grew closer. It felt all too familiar, except this time he wasn’t trapped in the backseat of a crumpled vehicle; he was trapped in the gentle loop of Castiel’s arms. He allowed his eyes to close, finding solace in darkness.

* * *

 

            To say Castiel was antsy was an understatement. He’d all but paced a hole in the hospital floors by now, and the nurses had begun to give him a wide berth. Bobby and Ellen had long since given up on trying to get him to sit - Jo sat dejectedly in front of the OR doors, her head propped up on one hand. Sam had been called; Bobby booked him the first flight back to Lawrence the following day.

            When a nurse finally exited the room, Castiel all but backed her into a wall and it took Bobby stepping in front of him with a level look to stop him.

            The nurse smelled nervous, her control fraying after having been in the OR for so long. She reeked of blood and sweat. “M-Mr. Winchester has several facial contusions. He has three broken ribs and his spleen was ruptured. There should only be a little while longer of surgery - they, they’re just removing it. And then he’ll be in recovery. Only family will be able to see him today.”

            “We are his family,” Castiel all but growled.

            “Hey now,” Bobby pressed a firm hand to Castiel’s chest. “Down, Alpha. Dean is fine. Did ya hear that? Your boy is safe. Now for the love of God and everything holy, _sit_.”

            Castiel took a heavy seat in the hard plastic chair until the doors burst open and they were wheeling Dean into the recovery room. He followed the parade of nurses to his room and hovered until they left and the rest of Dean’s family filed into the room, concern and fear etched into all of their faces.

            Even though Castiel was the first in the room, Ellen got to Dean first. She pressed her forehead to his, tears falling onto his cheeks. “My baby, my baby,” she cried. “Why couldn’t you just let us help you? You have to stop getting in trouble.”

            Dean didn’t move.

            Bobby only ran a hand through Dean’s hair and to his neck, his jaw clenched tightly. Jo stood at a distance, a single tear falling down her face. Bobby clapped Castiel on the back. “We’ll give you some time with him,” he said gruffly.

            They filed out of the room and Castiel pulled the hard chair right up to the edge of the bed. He pulled Dean’s palm between his own, cold and clammy, and held on for dear life. He brought their entwined hands to his forehead and sat there for a very, very long time.

            Unaware of how much time had passed, he jolted when he heard a small voice behind him, “he can hear you, you know?”

            He sat up and blearily regarded a little girl standing in the doorway. Her hair was in pigtails and she had a hospital gown on. She held a lollipop in one hand. “Excuse me?” he asked, his voice hard.

            She tilted her head to the side. “He can hear you. Your mate. You should talk to him, it might help him wake up,” she said matter of factly.

            Castiel blinked at her. “Oh,” he said dumbly.

            She smiled suddenly, the grin lighting up her features. “I hope he gets better. I’m hiding from chem-chem...therapy,” she finally finished awkwardly. “So I have to go. But I’m sure he’ll wake up!” With that, she turned on her heel and skipped down the hall.

            Castiel stared after her for a long moment before turning back to Dean, he pressed a gentle kiss to Dean’s palm, leaning his forehead against their hands again.

            “I’m here, my love. I’m right here with you. I need you to wake up though, please. I need to see those beautiful green eyes and tell you how proud of you I am.”

            He opened his eyes to see Dean staring blearily at him. “Hey there big Alpha,” he croaked.

            Tears pricked at the corner of Castiel’s eyes. “Hey there, my Omega.”

            Dean coughed a little bit and then groaned as his ribs protested. “Can I get another pump of the good stuff?” he pleaded.

            Castiel hurriedly shoved the morphine clicker into Dean’s hand and he pressed more of the drug into his veins, sighing in relief as it coursed through him. His eyes began to droop again and he tiredly whispered, “I love you.”

* * *

 [](http://tinypic.com?ref=33u3gis)

            Dean was in the hospital for two more weeks before he was released. Sam was due to come home for Thanksgiving break soon anyways, so he got an extension on his assignments so he could be with his brother. Ellen came to the hospital every day, bringing Dean a burger and fries, doing her best to make his stay more comfortable after his second day there and complaining about the hospital food.

            Still, no one but Castiel knew the full story. Dean’s family never once pushed for it; all they asked was that Dean take better care of himself.

            Castiel was questioned and investigated endlessly by the police. He was at the precinct almost every time that he wasn’t with Dean. Detective and officers and investigators. He was eventually let off with no charges. Azazel had a laundry list of battery and assault charges and was on the sex offenders list for statutory rape. The system finally chalked his death up to the fact that an alpha was protecting his Omega at any cost necessary, an occurrence that was pretty common.

            When Dean was released from the hospital, it was into Castiel’s care. Marnie had been gracious, giving Castiel even more time off. “You have to be there for your mate. I would be so upset if Bernie didn’t take time off to take care of me when I needed him.” She patted Castiel’s face. “You be good to that young man.” Her concern all but broke his heart and he almost wished he could continue working while simultaneously opening his arboretum.

            Naturally, Dean was pissy about needing to be waited on again, but Castiel heard none of it. He cooked for Dean and helped him to the bathroom and let him watch marathons of Dr. Sexy. While Dean acted like he was annoyed, he was basking in the attention, of all the time he was getting to spend with his Alpha. It felt good to be loved, to be doted on; something he’d been sure he’d never have again.

            And then one day Castiel came home from work with shifty eyes and shaking hands. Dean asked him over and over again what was wrong, worried that he was falling ill again.

            “Hush, Dean. I’m fine. What do you want for dinner tonight?”

            Dean frowned, but let it go. He trusted him; he’d tell him when he was ready to talk about it.

            When they sat down for dinner, Castiel regarded him quietly. They had made chicken Alfredo together, with Dean bumping Castiel’s hand while he was seasoning the sauce, and Castiel dabbing some on Dean’s nose for retaliation. They laughed together, the air growing peaceful around them as they sat down to eat.

            “Dean…” Castiel began.

            Dean practically threw down his fork. “Thank God. Are you finally going to tell me what crawled up your ass today?”

            “Nothing crawled up my...oh. No. Nothing’s wrong, why did you think something was wrong?”

            “You’ve been all wonky since you got home from work, like you smell uncomfortable and it’s been bothering the shit out of me.”

            “Oh…” Castiel hesitated. “My apologies. I’d really like to speak with you though.”

            “I’m all ears, Alpha.” Dean smiled at him, knowing how much Castiel loved hearing that phrase from him.

            Castiel cleared his throat and folded his napkin. He leaned around the table to take Dean’s hand in his. “I love you to death, you know that, right?”

            Dean snorted. “Of course. You killed a man for me.”

            Castiel cringed and shook his head, a smile toying at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, there’s that. But on another note, I do truly love you with all of my heart. Finding you, putting two and two together, was crazy. I could have had you back in high school, but I ran so quickly, so full of fear.”

            Dean stroked a gentle finger over the back of Castiel’s hand. “Don’t worry about that, babe. We’ve got all the time in the world to make up for it.”

            Castiel’s smile grew. “Yes we certainly do. Which is why,” he got down on one knee, pulling a ring from the pocket of his shirt. “I’m asking you to marry me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you do me the honor?”

            Dean’s jaw had dropped open and he stared at Castiel down on the floor. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “I couldn’t have called that in a million years. Yes, you goofy, giant dorky Alpha! Hell yeah I’ll marry you!”

            Castiel took Dean’s hand again and slid the ring over his third finger, a grin threatening to split his face. He stood and pulled Dean with him, grabbing him in a crushing hug.

            “I love you,” he murmured into Dean’s ear. “I love you so damn much I can’t stand it.”

            “I love you too, Alpha. I love you too.”

When they fell into bed that night, there was a ring on Dean's finger and with a heady gasp, Castiel knotted him for the first time. Dean had never felt something so _right_ in his life.

 

_fin_


End file.
